Perfect
by Lauren94
Summary: AU/AH. Chloe is just a regular high school junior, trying to figure things out and pass math. Derek, brooding, intimidating and the last person she expected, becomes her math tutor. But, at the end of the day, they might be exactly what the other needs.
1. Chapter 1

This idea has been floating around my head for a while and it hasn't gone away. I'm not abandoning my other stories, I've just been busy and haven't been able to plot them out properly. To set this up, Chloe is a junior and Derek is a senior. Thanks for reading :)

_So Much More_

Williams' dropped the folder filled with our corrected tests on his deck with a thud that resonated through the room-or, at least it seemed to, to me. My heart dropped and I tried to control my suddenly quick breaths. The room quieted as it always does when a difficult-again, difficult in my case-test was corrected and the fate of your average was suddenly so close. I closed my eyes and crossed my fingers as he began distributing, praying to whoever was listening that I didn't fail as miserably as I had the last time. Futile as I subconsciously knew it was, pray I did.

When he finally got to me, he set the test face down on my desk and waited expectantly. Fingers trembling slightly, I flipped it over and… my head hit the desk slowly and solidly. Some people looked back, but I was too upset to be embarrassed. Others-those who did well and yet still always fretted and reminisced over anything minute detail they may have gotten wrong-were single-mindedly focusing on some point off in space, no doubt praying as I had been a few moments earlier. I felt like scoffing at them. I was surrounded by geniuses! They had absolutely no right to worry. If they were me, they'd have probably already reached their breaking point they were so tightly wound and so severely-and unnecessarily-stressed.

Mr. Williams patted me lightly on the back as I brought my head up to look at him.

"Come see me after class," he said, before moving on.

I nodded weakly, my mind already reeling at how I would break the news to Aunt Lauren. It would be easier to hide from my dad, but not from her. Knowing I struggled in math and being the active family member I had, she was the one who arranged my after school sessions with Mr. Williams. She was the one who incessantly asked me how class was going, how I was coming along. And she was the one I had _assured_ that this was the test that would finally serve as the ticket to freedom in my personal purgatory. Stuffing the test in my backpack and pulling out my calculator, I knew I was getting a talking to.

I pressed each number carefully as I calculated my average. 57. Sitting back in my chair, I cursed math and all the otherworldly intellectuals who had invented it to the fiery pits of Hades. I honestly didn't know why I couldn't understand it, why I couldn't grasp what was going on. I studied, I really did. But every time I sat down in front of the book, the numbers stared back at me tauntingly, almost as if they knew I wouldn't understand. It was almost as if there was a thick, cement, Berlin-like wall blocking all the apparent logical concepts and rules from entering my mind.

I thought back to the beginning of the year when I was working my schedule out with the guidance counselor. Using my blonde hair and blue eyes to the best of their abilities, I had begged and wheedled with her until she had finally agreed to let me take twelfth grade English as an elective. It fit in the schedule and I didn't see a problem. If math was purgatory, English was the pearly, white, beckoning gates of Heaven. Deciding to push my luck, I had casually suggested that I not take math and she almost had an aneurism. That, she said, was an impossibility. I sighed, relenting and deciding that I've had to count down the days until next year when math became optional.

Here's what I didn't understand, though. If I knew, _knew_ with every fiber of my being, that I would never in my life use math, why would I take it? It seemed as if all adults either didn't understand or chose to ignore this sound reasoning. The bell rang, startling me out of my thoughts.

As the class shuffled out, most of them animatedly discussing how _relieved _they were at having passed with such flying colours, I approached Mr. Williams' desk. He smiled sympathetically at me and took a seat on the edge.

"Don't look so hopeless, Chloe. I have a solution."

I looked at him questioningly and doubtfully and he hurried on.

"Obviously, our extra sessions aren't helping. I know you study and do the work, so it's evidently my method you're not getting. I wonder what that says about my teaching," he finished, jokingly.

"It's not you, it's me," I said, desperately wanting to reassure him that it wasn't his fault that I was so inept.

He gasped playfully. "Are you breaking up with me, Chloe?"

His words were like a catalyst; my cheeks immediately flamed up and my eyes dropped to the floor as I mumbled something unintelligible and undoubtedly unintelligent. The thing is, is Mr. Williams is cute. He's fresh out of teacher's college, and although I'm not one to pine or even think of a teacher that way, I wasn't blind.

He laughed heartily at my reaction, and relieved, I looked at him once more.

"As I was saying, my methods obviously aren't working. However, I have a student in twelfth grade that is absolutely brilliant and I think he's just what you need. You're free after school today, right? Because I've asked him to meet you here at final bell."

I wanted to ask him if he intended to insult this mystery students said brilliance by pairing us together, but I kept my mouth shut. I was desperate and at this point, I couldn't say no. Who knew? Maybe he was exactly what I needed.

"I'm free."

"Great. Like I said, meet him here after the bell. He'll be providing me with progress reports and I've already lightly discussed your situation. I've already emailed your aunt to inform her of the change of plans. I really think is going to work, Chloe," he said, smiling.

I mustered the best smile I could and walked out of class, hoping that he was right and relieved that I was no longer going to have to break the news to Aunt Lauren, which surely would have been the hardest part.

"How's the script coming along, Chlo?" asked Mila as we walked towards our lockers at the end of the day.

"Pretty good. Nate and I still have a bit of tweaking to do, but it's definitely coming along."

We were doing a mash up of Romeo and Juliet meets dark and supernatural for the school play this year, and while I had reservations about the Romeo and Juliet side of it, the horrific twists Nate and I were adding undeniably compensated.

"I'm so excited!" squealed Amber-and our Juliet-from my other side. Amber loved being in the spotlight. She had been doing plays since elementary school and had gotten the lead three years in a row. She was talented, anyone could see that, but I couldn't see the appeal in acting as she did. I was a behind the scenes kind of girl. I loved working out all the details that made the final production what it was.

As Amber and Mila continued to excitedly talk about the play, I gathered my things and mentally began to prepare myself for an hour alone with my mystery tutor. If I was being honest, I was more than a little nervous about the mystery part. Wondering who it could be, it took me a second to realize Mila waving her hand in front of my face.

"Earth to Chloe," she crooned, "are you coming with us to Franny's?"

How I wish I could go with them and enjoy a rich, creamy chocolate shake, but alas, we don't always get what we want.

"Tutoring," I informed them.

"I thought Williams tutored you on Thursdays," Amber said.

Not wanting to get into it, I simply said, "We're trying something new."

They nodded understandingly and, after saying our goodbyes, I walked towards the math wing, feeling like I was walking to my death.

As I crossed the threshold of the classroom, I stopped dead in my tracks. My stomach dropped and I felt an odd mixture of intimidation and amusement, for there sat Derek Souza, waiting for me with a bored sort of expectancy.

**R&R :)**


	2. Chapter 2

Thank you all so much for the positive feedback! I really, dearly appreciate it :) And to anyone who's reading, thank you too! That being said, this is a bit of a filler chapter, I realize that. However, I felt it was needed to further set the tone.

If his eyes hadn't been trained on the door, I would have stayed rooted in place or I may have walked away and not looked back. But because his eyes _were_ trained on the door, I couldn't do that without looking completely insane or extraordinarily bitchy. So, pushing down the sudden yet intense anxiety, I walked farther into the classroom, as if compelled forward by the sense of intrigue that was almost equally as strong. This was, Derek Souza, after all. It may have been because he was on the football team. It may have been because we were in English together and, if his constant stream of seventies were any indication, I wouldn't have pegged him as brilliant. Or it may have been because Derek was six foot five, broad and muscular with rugged features that screamed _'I'm trouble'_-even though, as far as I knew, he wasn't-and piercing eyes that dared you to defy him. Ones that managed to be judgmental and convey arrogance, while remaining distant, indicating what seemed like ever-present disinterest, at the same time. Whichever way you decided to spin, regardless of which justification seemed the most likely, the same conclusion could be reached: He was the last person I was expecting to be sitting in this classroom.

Taking the seat across from him, I slid my books onto the table and took a breath.

"H-Hi. I'm-"

He cut me off, irritatedly. "I know who you are, Chloe. And I'm assuming you know who I am?" His tone was dripping with condescension and I wanted so badly to put him in his place. But I didn't want my stutter to get in the way and ruin everything. And couldn't find the right words, words strong enough to express how much I resented his attitude. Had he never heard of being polite? Choosing, though, to take the high road, I simply stared at him.

He sighed heavily and said, "What's your problem?"

"Excuse me?" I was abashed. Where was he getting off? That- He gestured to the math book. _Oh._

"Haven't you talked to Mr. Williams?"

"Yes."

"Then I assume you know what the problem is." I used the same tone he had with me moments earlier and his eyes snapped up to mine, boring down on me. There was also a hint of something I couldn't place. Surprise, maybe? But how would that make sense?

I stared back at him defiantly. I had dealt with enough bullies in grade school and I was still the subject of some ridicule because of the stutter. There was no way _in hell _that I would let the one person standing between me and a passing grade dictate the mood of our sessions. Plus, looking at him in the eye wasn't hard, because once you were, it was hard to look away. My height-five foot nothing-put me at a disadvantage and I had never been able to look at Derek properly. Now, with him up close, I could see that his eyes were, I grudgingly admit, the most beautiful shade of green and not the dark, depthless brown I had thought they were. They seemed almost multi-dimensional and the green was arranged in such a way that made it seem fragmented, making then all the more captivating.

Noticing a pencil dangling in front of my face, I snapped back into reality, focusing on Derek's scowl.

"Can we start? Or would like a couple more minutes to stare into space and waste our time?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but he forged on, ignoring me.

"How do you feel about math?"

"What do you mean?" I snapped, annoyed at how I was being treated.

"I _mean_ do you like it? Do you hate it?" What kind of question was that? Who in their right mind liked math?

"I despise it." His eyes widened marginally before he seemed to reign in anything that may indicate emotion and regain control.

"That's your problem." I looked at him dubiously and received another sigh.

"You're failing because you don't understand. You don't understand because you're not properly grasping the concepts and material. Not understanding leads you to feel frustrated and defeated. And those feelings lead you to become so closed-minded that, because you're so unwilling to try and look at math positively, you yourself become a restriction, disabling any chance of comprehension."

"I try." And I did. He couldn't fling these empty accusations around.

"You need to try harder. And we need to find a method that works so you don't feel so desolate about trying. You need to be dedicated and I need to know that you're going to try, or no deal."

As he looked at me expectantly, though still with an air of maddening indifference, I mulled over what he had said. He was right. What he said was reasonable. And, the fact remained that I was desperate and, personality aside, Derek may be my savior.

"I may not understand the first time."

He nodded impatiently, as if he expected this and didn't have time for the unimportant distinction I was making.

"Ok. Where are we starting?"

He flipped through the book, going all the way back to chapter one. I would have been insulted, but, really, I knew there was no merit in that feeling. Pushing the book towards me, I held back a sigh and bent my head forward, reading the definition he was pointing at.

* * *

Locking the door behind me, I slid down the wall, closing my eyes and leaning my head back against it. I was exhausted from the past hour of strenuous mental exertion. Tired as I was though, there was no way I'd be able to rest. I was too keyed up, too anxious to go over the past hour and curse myself for the millionth time that any chance at a nap evaded me. I thought I might be going insane, but I didn't have the heart to thoroughly look into it.

After my first session with Derek, I had begun to see him _everywhere_. It was as if I was attuned to him and suddenly, he was everywhere I looked. It had gotten so bad that I began to know where he would be in proportion to me and I snuck peeks at him out of the corner of my eye during lunch. I felt like a stalker, and yet, I couldn't help it.

Sighs, scowls and muttered comments about 'How could I not get this?' aside, I could tell after that first hour that Derek was a good tutor. He drilled things into my head and seemed to know when something was still hazy, even when, at first, I would deny it. It had gone well enough, that I had even allowed myself to hope that things could actually get better.

Tutoring aside though, it was the tutor himself I was curious about. Aside from the basics, I had realized over the hour we had spent together that I knew absolutely nothing about him. And it had become my mission to change that.

So I began looking out for him, studying him while in English, looking at him in the caf. I wasn't interested in him. But I felt that if we were going to be spending an hour together-maybe more if he was serious about bringing up my mark-every week, I should know more about him. I knew the basics, but they were unimportant and didn't aid much in unraveling the mystery.

He had transferred to the school when I was in grade nine, Simon and Tori in tow. They were half-siblings and Derek was their foster brother. Simon was good-looking and charming, his mischievousness visible in his almond shaped hazel eyes and his easygoing nature leaking from his pores. The unexpectedness of his blonde hair was exotic and he drove girls crazy, going through one a week it sometimes seemed. He remained, surprisingly, a nice guy and an open book, the attention he got not having seemed to spoil him.

Tori, on the other hand, who shared half his blood, was nothing like him. Although they had similar builds and were almost exactly the same height, Tori had short dark hair and big, dark brown eyes. And she thrived on the attention she got. When she walked into a room, you noticed her. And if you didn't, she'd make it a point to make sure you did. She was intimidating in her own right and popular; though, for the life of me, I had no idea why. I suspected it was fear that kept her sidekicks in check. To put it lightly, Tori Enright makes Cruella Deville look like Mother Theresa.

It was Derek that remained a mystery. In my week of observation-_stalking, _the voice in my head corrected-I had noticed that Derek's mouth, if not set in a scowl, was still downturned at the corners, as if he were anticipating something bad to happen or for someone else to disappoint him. And I wanted to know why. Why that was case. Why he always looked that way.

Then there were his eyes, truly the windows to what was underneath the rough exterior. While his expression remained mostly unchanging, his eyes gave him away. The few times he caught me looking at him, while his scowl became more pronounced, there was curiousness and anger in his eyes, which drove me crazy because _I couldn't justify those emotions. _And on the occasion he ate lunch with his jock friends, the annoyance could be spotted a mile away. Notice the 'on occasion.' Derek ate lunch with them twice in the week. The other days he disappeared and I hadn't yet gone crazy enough to follow him, to put it frankly. And perhaps the most frustrating of all was when I caught _him _looking at me. His expression was intense, yet unfathomable, making it all the more hard to attempt to decipher his thoughts, to figure out what he was looking at.

I also had not mentioned any of this to Amber or Mila. I didn't know if they'd understand-hell, I didn't even understand the odd obsession-and it wasn't something I felt like sharing. So I kept it to myself.

Today, after hour number three together, I was anxious to see if things would change. If any of my observations would provide me with more insight. Alas, I had come up empty handed. He was as cryptic as ever and when the hour came to an end, he grunted his usual and dependable 'See you next week,' I became desperate. So I blurted the out the first thing that came to mind.

"Are you going to the football game?" I asked, referring to the upcoming game Friday night with our rival school.

He looked at me strangely and intently for a few seconds, as if seriously questioning my intelligence, before answering.

"I'm on the team. I kind of have to be there," he said slowly. My cheeks flamed and my eyes dropped to the floor as I tried to busy myself by putting my things away. He remained silent and I was mentally berating myself for being so regrettably and shamefully blonde in that moment. As I turned to leave, he asked, "Are you?"

Mila and Amber had been pleading with me to come with them since the weekend, but I hadn't wanted to go. I just didn't see the appeal in watching people throw around a ball, run up and down a field, and trample each other. But now, the answer came out before I could give it a second thought. "Yeah."

He nodded and we parted ways. Leaving the classroom, it took all of my strength not to hit myself in the head with my binder. But then I remembered the look I had caught when he asked me. Something fell away and he seemed like he genuinely wanted to know, like my answer actually mattered. Maybe I wasn't so crazy after all.

**I promise, there will be development in the next chapter-it's already planned out! **

**R&R :) please and thank you**


	3. Chapter 3

Oh my goodness, I feel so spoiled. Thank you all so much for the positive feedback; I feel really strongly about this story and I'm glad that people appreciate it. And thanks to the readers to, because, obviously, if there weren't any, I wouldn't even be writing :p On another note, I always seem to forget a disclaimer-it's probably my subconscious trying to keep from me the fact that, you guessed it, I own nothing. Without further ado, chapter three.

_Trouble_

"What made you change your mind?" Mila asked suspiciously on Friday, when I told her that I was, in fact, going to be joining her and Amber at the game.

"What do you mean?" I asked innocently, wide eyes and all.

Beside me, Amber snorted and Mila continued, "We've been asking you all week and every time you've been adamant, resolute in your decision to not go. So what happened? Have Amber and I finally piqued your curiosity about Mr. Tall, dark and sexy? Do you want to see for your own eyes how good he looks in his uniform?"

Mila refused to call Derek by his name. She always referred to him by plays on his name, and when she had first found out about the change of tutors, she practically went into cardiac arrest and called him Mr. Too-sexy-for-my-shirt for a week. Yes, Derek was attractive. Again, I'm not blind. He just wasn't attractive in the usual, All-American way. While he had strong features and a sharp jaw line, like Mila said, his look was darker, rugged. She said that he looked like the guy you'd want to run away on the back of motorcycle with. Regardless, her comments made me oddly uncomfortable and I always tried to deflect and change the subject, just like now.

Blushing, I said, "It has nothing to do with _Derek_," emphasis on his name, "it's about me. I mentioned to Aunt Lauren about how you guys were harassing me to go and, since she knew she was on-call Friday night and working the day Saturday, she said she thought it was a great idea. She strongly encouraged that I take you guys up on your offer."

By strongly encourage, I mean force. My aunt didn't think I had enough fun. I had friends, she knew, but what she couldn't understand was why I didn't want to go out, why I preferred to spend my time at home, fiddling with my programs and writing scripts. Personally, I thought it was odd. Shouldn't she want me to be spending time at home rather than out gallivanting, doing God knows what?

Apparently, my answer sufficed for Mila nodded. Amber, in turn, asked, "Do you want to come over after school?" I agreed and we arranged to meet up at the end of the day.

* * *

I was antsy. I was supposed to meet Amber and Mila fifteen minutes ago, but I also needed to ask Mrs. Dobbs, my English teacher, a quick question. She was, at the moment, however, occupied with another student and I was forced to wait. Spacing out and thinking about tonight, I hadn't realized that I was actually blocking the door until the person who had been talking to her, muttering angrily to themselves, bumped into me and I fell to the floor. Blinking and looking around confusedly for the source of sudden upheaval, I didn't notice him until he was crouching down in front of me. Simon Bae. Derek's brother.

"Oh God, I didn't see you standing there. I am so sorry. Are you ok?" All this was said very quickly and his eyes, I noticed were very earnest and held an apparent honesty.

"It's fine. I'm fine. I shouldn't have been standing in the middle of the door." I said, as he helped me up. Recognition suddenly flared in his eyes.

"Are you Chloe Saunders?"

"Y-Yes," I said nervously, wondering why this mattered.

"You're the girl Derek's tutoring. I thought it was you by the description." Mind reeling, I simply nodded. I probably wouldn't have been able to utter a single word for the life of me.

"This is going to sound odd," he continued. He still sounded friendly and casual, but his eyes were giving away an evident tenseness I couldn't understand. "But his Derek being nice to you?"

_Huh?_

Cautiously, I said, "Yes. Why wouldn't he be nice to me?" As soon as the words left my mouth, Simon visibly relaxed, an expression of relief overcoming his features.

He laughed lightly. "No reason. Derek's just not the most social of people and I wanted to make sure he wasn't being too mean."

I smiled back and we regarded each other for a few moments. I didn't know what it was, but something about Simon made you feel completely at ease.

"I guess I'll see you around, then," he said, finally.

Nodding, I turned around, ready to hurry outside to where Mila and Amber were sure to be waiting impatiently. As I was about to turn the corner, Simon called out to me.

"Hey Chloe! Derek was right. You are really pretty." The, without another word, he walked away.

Shocked, I stood frozen in the hallway. Derek thought I was pretty? Did that mean Derek talked about me? He didn't seem like one to do that, so what did that mean? Did Simon have to pull the information out of him? Had he mentioned it once in passing? And what about Simon's question about Derek being nice to me? We didn't braid each other's hair and he wasn't the most vocal person, but he wasn't mean. What was that about then? Shaking my head clear, I continued on my way, determined anew to figure out Derek Souza.

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to sleep over?" Amber asked, her bottom lip jutting out slightly.

"Yeah, we're going to be staying up all night and watching chick flicks." Mila added in mockingly. I scrunched my nose up in disdain and they both laughed.

"I'm sure. I have a bunch of homework and I need to work on the script. And none of that will get done if I put an all-nighter with you guys and spend all day tomorrow napping."

They relented and let me go. I was almost out of the field, when someone called my name.

"Chloe! Chloe, wait up a sec!" Nate called, running towards me. I bit back a groan of frustration. Nate and I were pretty close and he was really sweet, but he didn't seem to be able to take a hint. Relentless and over-bearing were two words I though fit him well.

"Yes?" I asked politely has he caught his breath.

"What are you doing tonight?" he asked, smiling.

"Um, I'm ah, going out with my aunt." This last part came out in a rush and I was surprised I hadn't stuttered, which for sure would have given me away. Truth be told, I didn't want to go out, which is why I had declined Amber's offer and why I would certainly be declining Nate's.

"Too bad." I said nothing, because frankly, I really didn't think it wasn't.

"Where are you going?" he asked. What is this? Twenty questions?

"Just away for the weekend." I said instead.

"Have fun then. Maybe we can get together another time." The latter wasn't phrased as a question, rather as a statement. See what I mean about not taking a hint?

"See you Monday," I said smiling. He smiled broadly in return and I was finally free to go home to an empty house and be alone in peace. My dad was always away in business and while Aunt Lauren tried her best to make sure I wasn't alone, her schedule was still hectic. I had grown so accustomed to it that when I wasn't, it felt odd.

Walking through the parking lot, I noticed a group of rowdy senior boys gathered in a group, smoking. When I passed them, a couple cat called and whistled, but I kept my head bent against the wind and stared straight ahead, only quickening my pace slightly. I thought I was home free when I heard footsteps behind me. And not one set of footsteps. Multiple. I dared a quick glance behind me and sure enough, four of them were following me. I took a deep breath, trying in vein to calm my frantic heart. I tried reasoning with myself. Just because we were all heading in the same direction didn't mean they were following me. I gulped and held my arms more tightly against me. Reasoning, however sound, was not worth it. I had heard that when you felt something, or knew something, in your gut, you knew. And that feeling shouldn't be ignored. I was suddenly all too aware of the frigid night air, enveloping darkness and empty parking lot. I regretted intensely not going with Amber and Mila. The footsteps got louder. They were getting closer. My pace quickened again and I desperately tried to remain calm, tried to remember an inkling of self-defense I had seen in the movies and more importantly, I attempted to push away the thoughts of how this story unfolds in every movie.

"Chloe!"

Surprisingly, I didn't jump in the air, startled half out of my wits. Instead, I spun around, the sense of relief that came with hearing that voice so heavy I felt I could almost collapse. The boys eyed him warily as he jogged towards me before deciding it was in their best interest to walk away.

He had slowed to a purposeful walk, but I could still tell something was wrong. His broad shoulders were tense, making him look tightly wound. As he got closer, however, the expression in his eyes was clear as day.

And I had never seen _anyone_ look so angry.

His anger was intense and directed solely at me. The closer he got, the smaller I felt. When he got within hearing range, he didn't waste time beating around the bush.

"What the fuck?" he asked, voice dangerously low.

**Hehe.. was that a cliffy? R&R please :)**


	4. Chapter 4

Again, thanks to all the reviewers and the readers; you guys keep me smiling and motivated :) *To clear up any confusion, it is, in fact, Derek at the end of last chapter.

_Saved_

The relief I felt quickly dissipated as be bore down on me, green eyes flashing. Aside from being slightly intimidated, I was also thoroughly confused. Why would be me mad at me? Just as I was opening my mouth to voice my puzzlement, he cut me off with a hard glare and continued.

"Were you aware that you were being followed?" he demanded.

"Yes," I replied calmly. His eyes widened in disbelief and I rushed on. "But-" Regaining his composure and apparently remembering that he wanted this to be a one-sided conversation, he silenced me again.

"You were aware that you were being followed and _you didn't try to find help?"_ His tone was a mix of incredulousness and anger, each word of the latter part of his question punctuated distinctly. I opened my mouth-

"Do you want to be a victim?" he demanded. "Why don't you wear a sign that says 'Easy Target' or 'Defenseless and Stupid'?"

Whether it was because I was blonde and people were always inclined to think so, or, like every other person, I didn't appreciate when my intelligence was insulted, I was mad now. He had crossed a line and he wasn't getting away with it.

"I'm sorry that you don't approve of how I acted. What do you suggest I could have done? You saw them, all four of them. Was I supposed to turn around and walk back towards the field? Because, if their intentions were what I assume they were, that wouldn't have happened. I don't live far, Derek. I was hoping to make it home." I said with a hard edge.

"That's naïve," he snapped. "As soon as you saw them, you should have turned right around and gone back to school. You wouldn't have stood a chance against them. And they would have hurt you, Chloe. Believe me, they would have hurt you."

I wasn't ignorant to that. I wasn't. But his words really hit home. The implications of what could have happened had he not shown up and the seriousness of the situation suddenly hit me, and I tried to keep the shivers from running down my spine. Him chastising me was the last thing I needed right now.

"So far you've called me stupid and naïve. Would you like to throw any more insults at me? Because if not, I'd really just like to go home."

He remained silent, eyes still hard. I returned his gaze and spun around, intent on leaving him in the parking lot. He grabbed my elbow and pulled me back. I crossed my arms and glared at him as best as I could, wanting him to know how unhappy I was about this turn of events. He kept his hand in place, but sighed in frustration.

"I just want to make sure that you understand that you need to be more careful," he said with a look in his eyes that begged me to understand, to cooperate.

"Why do you even care?" I snapped, exasperated by his sudden change in mood. He looked truly perplexed for a moment and hastily dropped his hand, cold immediately penetrating the spot on my arm it had occupied. Finally, he said quietly, almost to himself, "I don't know."

We stood there for a few minutes, me looking at the ground simultaneously trying not to imagine what would have happened if he hadn't, in lack of better terms, saved me, and trying to figure out where this sudden turn in conversation was heading.

"Are you okay?" he asked carefully, quietly.

I looked up, intending to say fine, but my eyes must have given me away. His eyes softened and there was something else there that I couldn't place. Regret? But why?

He took a step closer and stopped. I thought for a second-a fleeting second-that he was going to hug me, but that didn't seem like Derek. However, with our feet touching and sharing the same breathing space, it seemed almost as intimate. There was no physical contact, but the reassurance was still there. He was there. Solidly, intently there.

Our relationship had been so simple before this, almost impersonal for we didn't spend any time together and when we did, we talked about math. But things, after tonight, felt has if they had changed, and, if they already hadn't, that they would have to.

"C'mon, I'm walking you home." I looked up, surprised, but his jaw was set, eyes determined.

"Derek, you don't have to. I appreciate the effort, but honestly, I'm fine. Everything's fine now."

He ignored me and began walking, and I had no choice but to follow him.

After a few minutes of silence and me leading the way, he asked, "Shouldn't you be at a party or something?"

"Shouldn't you?" I countered, peering up at him. He wasn't a social butterfly and it hadn't been hard to figure it out. The look of barely-there tolerance whenever he was with his friends gave that away.

It came and went so fast that I may have imagined it, but I could have sworn his lips quirked. I tired to swallow down my own smile, and half succeeded. Getting Derek to do something other than frown felt like a small, mentionable accomplishment.

We continued on in amiable silence and I realized how thankful I was for his presence. Not just for saving me from the boys, but for walking me home. For unconsciously making me feel safe. Stopping in front of my house, I took a step to stand in front of him.

"This is me." He regarded my darkened house with a faraway look in his eyes and when he finally looked at me, it was with a curiousness I had never seen before.

"Home alone?" he asked off-handedly.

"My dad's always away on business and my aunt's working late tonight, which is why I'm home and not at her house." I explained.

Nodding, he was about to leave, but I placed a hand on his arm to stop him.

"Thank you. For everything." I said seriously.

"I wasn't about to let something happen."

"Still. I really appreciate it."

We regarded each other for a few moments. He seemed indecisive, as if he didn't know what to do.

"Ok, so I guess I'll see you Monday then." He remained looking conflicted, as if he wasn't sure if he should leave me in what he now knew was an empty house.

"I'm okay." I said reassuringly.

His eyes snapped to mine and he slowly nodded. "You're okay," he repeated softly.

With a final look, I turned and walked into my house, Derek's figure remaining unmoving until I was safely inside.

**R&R :)**


	5. Chapter 5

Another shout out to the readers and reviewers! You guys are THE best :)

_Step in the right-wrong?-direction_

"So I was thinking, maybe after school we could go grab a coffee or something because there was-" As Nate prattled on, I focused on getting my locker open. It was Monday morning before first bell and I couldn't deal with yet another one of his sly attempts at asking me out. It was too early for that. My weekend had been unpredictable, as expected. After the game-it having been the highlight-I spent Saturday and Sunday on homework and editing the script for drama. Regardless of my productive weekend though, I had still found time to think about Derek. I found myself curious about his plans. About how he would be spending his weekend and about what he had done after the game. A quick scan of the hallway this morning with a lingering glance at his locker had averted that he was not yet at school, which seemed to make me deflate just a little.

Shutting my locker, I looked over at Nate, who had, unbeknownst to me, stopped talking and was now focused with narrowed eyes on a point somewhere behind me. Turning around, I saw Derek walking our way, looking directly at me. He stopped at the locker beside mine and I had to try to keep my expression neutral. This had never happened before. Derek and I didn't do this. We didn't interact during school. Beside me, I could feel the animosity rolling off Nate in waves.

"Hi," I said, still slightly surprised.

"Hey," he said back, gruffly.

I looked at him questioningly for a few seconds, not knowing what to say or even why he had approached me in the first place.

Shooting an annoyed look Nate's way, as if his presence was greatly unappreciated, he finally spoke, "Are you o-" another look at Nate and he continued, "Are you free today after school?"

That was not the original question he had been going to ask. I knew it. I knew by how he had suddenly cut his sentence short, by the way he had quickly put his hands in his pockets when he had. And I also knew that Nate was the reason for it.

I felt like shooting my own glare his way. But the question Derek had asked caught me off guard and intrigued me, too. My answer came without hesitation.

"Yes. Why?"

Nate's mouth may have fallen open, but I couldn't be sure. I was focused on Derek.

"Can we do today instead of tomorrow? In the library? I have some football thing and wouldn't be able to make it."

"For sure," I said, again a little disappointed for reasons I couldn't figure out. "So I guess I'll see you then?"

He nodded, graced Nate with another look-one I couldn't read this time-and called over his shoulder, "Yeah, see you then."

Nate turned to me slowly. "What was that all about? Since when do you talk to _Derek Souza? _The football player?" He sounded like a petulant child and when he said Derek's name, he said it with an air of superiority that I resented. I wanted to jump to Derek's defense and tell him that he was different from the rest of them. But this wasn't really about Derek. And I couldn't risk Nate becoming even more jealously aware by suddenly and ardently doing so. I mean, Nate was right. Before, we used to clump all the jocks and cheerleaders into one big group of spoiled, haughty air-heads who thought they were too good for everyone else. I knew differently now, of course, but he didn't.

"For a while now," I said absently, before turning around and walking away, leaving him standing there, staring after me.

* * *

I walked into the library and felt strange and out of place. It wasn't a place I visited frequently. The air was musty and felt heavy, as if it were rarely disturbed. Looking around, I saw no sign of Derek and decided to take advantage of the unlimited supply of literature. Walking to the classics section, I scanned the shelves for Mary Shelley's _Frankenstein, _a favorite I hadn't read in years.

Because life was unfair and fate, or whatever you'd like to call it, frequently enjoyed taunting me, I found it on the top shelf, completely out of reach. Looking stealthily left and then right, and feeling a lot like James Bond, I approached the shelf and stood square in front of it, looking up. I had seen the librarian around the school before. She was thin lipped-probably from too many years of pursing her lips at students-and had a pinched nose. She seemed like a woman who took her books very seriously and I didn't want to risk her seeing what I was about to do in her library.

Placing a firm grip on the shelf I could reach, I gave it a shake to make sure it was solid. Satisfied, I climbed up to the first shelf, trying in vain to reach the book that was just out of reach. Determined and frustrated, I was pulling myself up yet another level when suddenly, from behind me, a hand appeared out of nowhere.

Taken off guard, I jumped a foot in the air and closed my eyes tightly, preparing myself for the fall I knew was coming.

But it never did. Someone had caught me.

Opening my eyes, I saw Derek staring down at me disapprovingly.

Heart still slamming against my rib cage, I said, a little breathlessly, "God Derek, do you think you could have warned me that you were there?"

Ignoring my question as he so frequently did, he asked, a bit sarcastically, "Do you think you're an orangutan? Honestly, Chloe, _when_ are you going to start being more careful? What if I hadn't been here and you had fallen?"

He seemed upset by his hypothetical possibility and his voice rose a bit near the end.

"Oh my God! The only reason I fell was because you took me off guard. The shelf is steady. I would have been up and down, no problem."

We glared at each other for a few moments before he said, "It was still stu-"

"Don't say stupid," I warned.

"It was."

I glared at him some more and he sighed, "Safe. That still didn't make it safe." He didn't sound like a parent chastising a child, but rather like he was genuinely concerned, and I couldn't stay mad. He was opening his mouth when we heard the clearing of a throat behind us. Both our heads snapped in synchronization towards the end of the aisle where the librarian was standing, giving us a look of death. Derek set me down swiftly yet carefully-the lack of physical contact painfully obvious on my part-and we all three just stood there, us staring at her while she kept her eyes narrowed at us. With a final glare to each of us, with a particularly nasty look for Derek, she turned and marched away. Looking up at him, I saw a shadow pass over his eyes before quickly disappearing.

"What was that about?" I asked, referring to their final exchange.

Blinking, as if he were bringing himself back to the present and out of his thoughts, he shrugged. "I think she's afraid I'm going to steal the books," he deadpanned with a sly look down to me.

I couldn't help it. I laughed, before clapping my hand over my mouth. He smiled and shook his head. A real, true, honest to God smile, before saying, "C'mon. We need to start if you're ever going to pass."

As he walked ahead, I stood there, stunned for a moment. I followed slowly, trying very much to think about math. Numbers, parabolas, second degree equations all flashed into my mind before quickly dissipating into a dark abyss.

It was hopeless. All done in futility for I couldn't get the image of Derek smiling out of my mind.

* * *

As we were finishing up, the air in the room shifted, as if suddenly charged. The sound of the heavy library doors closing with a definite thud caught both our attention and we looked towards them.

And there stood Tori Enright, looking around the room with her chin raised lightly in what was unmistakably self-importance and her nose scrunched up in disdain. When she spotted us, she walked over to our table purposefully, with a stride that epitomized confidence. She was half awe inducing and half intimidating and you couldn't help but look at her. Wasting no time, she said to Derek, "I need your car keys."

He snorted, looking at her doubtfully, "Not going to happen," ha said, before returning his attention to the book in front of him.

"Why not?" she demanded.

Without looking up, he said disinterestedly, "Road rage and irresponsibility do not make someone I would trust with my car."

"I'm a great driver!" she snapped.

Exhaling loudly in frustration and pinching his nose with his thumb and forefinger, he asked, "What do you want, Tori?"

"Your car."

"And I've already told you it's not going to happen. So, really, you no longer have a reason to be here."

Eyes flaring up in anger, she said tightly, "Dad said that you have to give it to me. I need to get somewhere."

"I'm sure the mall can wait."

I didn't know if Derek had a death wish or if he had simple grown accustomed to her, but I didn't know why he continued to provoke her. She looked _mad._ I would have given her the keys as soon as she had asked.

Instead of saying anything though, she took out her cell phone and hit a key, handing it to Derek. As he had a murmured conversation, she finally turned her attention to me, who had been watching the exchange fascinatedly.

"Do you even go here?"

"I-I'm a junior."

She gave me a once over and I saw myself threw her eyes. Strawberry blonde hair, small frame, a practically non-existent bust line and hard to see curves definitely didn't make me look my age. I had my days of self-doubt, but I didn't particularly care any more about what I had-or didn't have.

Shrugging dismissively, she turned her attention back to Derek, whose jaw was set in undesired resignation. She held her hand out, grinning victoriously. He dropped the cell phone and the keys in her hand, glaring at her.

"How am I supposed to get home?" he demanded.

With a scary sugary sweetness, she said, before turning, "Not my problem."

We sat there in silence for a few minutes before he said, grudgingly, "She's not terrible when you get to know her. She," he faltered for a moment, "she has her reasons."

Doubtful, but not disbelieving, I nodded. After a few more minutes, he muttered a curse.

"I still don't know how I'm going to get home."

Taking an inaudible breath in, I looked up at him, taking my keys out of my pocket. "I could give you a ride?" It turned out like a question rather than a statement I was so uncertain. This was another step towards… I didn't know. It just seemed like something else that would tie me to Derek, bring us closer in the odd way that was.

He considered me levelly before nodding.

Getting up, he grabbed my bag-to my surprise-and held the door open for me as I passed under him. Together, we made our way out.

**R&R :)**


	6. Chapter 6

Are me readers and reviewers the most awesome people in the world? I think so :)

_Lucky_

Once I had gotten directions to his house, the ride was quiet, much to my displeasure. I wanted to talk to him, wanted to learn more, and I figured now was the probably the best chance I'd have.

"So, what football thing do you have tomorrow?"

He made a face, but replied nonetheless. "It's stupid. You know the quarterback, Liam Johnson? Well, he has a big house, furnished to the nines and once a month, he gathers the whole team in his screening room to watch football." He made it sound so inane and so frivolous, like it was the last place he wanted to be, which made me wonder why he was going.

"Sounds like… fun?" I said questioningly.

He snorted in derisiveness. "It's not. At least, I assume it's not. I've never been and I don't plan on ever going. Liam invites me because we're teammates, not because we're friends. And even if we were, I wouldn't go and waste my time while they sat around, eating cold pizza, getting drunk and yelling at the TV."

My mind was reeling. To say I was stunned would be the understatement of the year. I didn't think Derek had said as much to me since I've known him as he just had-excluding when he was chastising me. And this revelation was like a catalyst for a new bombardment of questions. He didn't like Liam-who, even from afar, looked like a creep? Did he even really like football? But most importantly, why did he lie? That was the question that held seniority over every other.

"Why did you tell me that you were going, then?" I asked, trying not to sound accusatory.

He shot a sidelong glance my way before replying, "I didn't originally go looking for you this morning with the intention of cancelling. I wanted to see if you were okay. But that guy was with you and I just-I don't know. I didn't want to ask you with him around because I didn't know if he knew or not. So I improvised." By the end of his explanation, he was rubbing the back of his head and looking at me rather sheepishly.

I nodded, still intent on clearing up the confusion, "Okay?" I questioned.

"About what happened after the game," he said, as if he couldn't believe I didn't know what he was referring to.

"Oh," I said softly.

"Yeah."

I said nothing and after a bit, his hand began to twitch with what could only be impatience.

"Well _are_ you okay?" he snapped with concern and irritation at the same time.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Some people go into shock. I don't know, Chloe," he said, exhaling, "like I said, I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

"I am. I was."

"Thanks to you," I added quietly.

Our eyes met for a moment before I was forced to return mine to the road.

Without warning, he asked, "Who _was_ that guy this morning?"

"Nate."

"Wow, thanks. That really answers my question. I mean who is he to you? Because you looked completely uninterested in whatever it was he was saying."

"I was tired," I protested, before saying, "He's just a friend. We're working on the script for this year's play together. It's a professional relationship."

He raised his eyebrows at me, smirking.

"What?" I demanded.

"Honestly, Chloe," he said, as if I were so naive, "to you, it may be as simple as that. But trust me, to him, a working relationship is the last thing he wants."

I blushed and looked away, his smirk growing more pronounced and gaining an air of smugness.

"What about you?" I countered defiantly, "You don't seem particularly enthralled by your friends, especially Liam."

"Liam's a tool," he said flatly. I was about to ask for elaboration, but his jaw was set and I didn't think I'd be able to get it out of him. Deciding to save it for another time, I asked instead, "And the others?"

"Are my teammates. I play football because it increases my chances of getting noticed and getting a scholarship to a good school. On the field, we deal with each other. We work together because we have to. But forgive me if I don't want to spend my spare time with people who have the emotional maturity of five year olds. They're irresponsible, immature and naïve. They function on the belief that because they're popular now, life will always be easy for them. They don't realize that they're going to end up being be forty years old, still trying to regain the splendor of their glory days and probably living vicariously through their children."

"That's a bit harsh," I reasoned.

He shrugged, "Maybe. But all I'm saying is that I don't see the point of going out of my way to socialize with people that I am most likely never going to see again. I have Simon, my dad and-and Tori,too-on a good day. It's enough, for me."

"I can understand that," I said, through my incredulousness. Derek just wasn't what I had originally pegged him for. I was still far from figuring him out, but that was because he kept surprising me.

"Chloe! Stop!" His command, loud, sharp, sudden and panicked, jolted me out of my thoughts and I slammed on the brakes, just in time.

Just in time to miss the car that had run the stop sign at top speed. The car that, had I not stopped, would have hit the driver's side. Would have hit me.

Derek let out an oath, but I was still too caught up in what had happened to admire the impressive way he had strung his words together.

The road was quiet. There was no horns or other drivers or any other noises except for the sound of Derek's breathing, to distract me, to snap me back into reality and out of the memories from that night. Hard as I tried, fragments still managed to fight their way into consciousness and out of the dark place I had banished them to.

The sound of the pouring rain, of metal meeting metal, of the sirens that soon followed, all assaulted me. But worst of all was, as clear and as fresh as ever, the sound of her scream.

"Chloe? Chloe," Derek had placed his hand on my arm and my eyes slowly met his. When they did, his widened and he told me to pull over. Still clutching the steering wheel for dear life, I managed to do so, but for the life of me, I didn't know how.

Next thing I knew, Derek's big hands were covering mine, taking them off the steering wheel and guiding them to my lap.

"Chloe. Chloe, look at me," he said authoritatively and I was all too happy to oblige. The sound of his voice, if nothing else, would keep me grounded.

Meeting his eyes, he searched my face before settling on looking right at me, right into me it seemed.

"Are you all right?" His voice was quiet and controlled, using the same tone you would to coax an animal out of its hiding place without scaring it away.

I nodded definitively and then decided to take a chance at speaking, hoping my voice would be as steady as his.

"Are _you _all right? I'm sorry… I-I just... I didn't-"

He cut me off with a sharp shake of his head. "That was _not _your fault, Chloe. You had the right of way. You obeyed the speed limit. You stuck to traffic signs. It should be drivers like him that are taken off the road." He had no idea how wholeheartedly I agreed with the latter. He said all this very intently, as if to make sure that I was absorbing what he was saying, forcing me to understand.

"Okay? It wasn't your fault, Chloe. It wasn't," he continued. Eyes never leaving mine, he waited expectantly.

"Okay," I repeated softly.

The rest of the drive was silent. Derek kept shooting worried glances my way, but I couldn't do anything to reassure him. I didn't have the energy to smile, to ask him more questions, even if I wanted to. All I had was focused on driving, on watching the road and trying desperately to think of nothing else. When we got to his house, I looked over at him to see him watching me carefully. Attempting a smile for his sake, I think I managed pretty well.

He looked desperate and concerned, yet I could see a steadfast determination in the green depths. He began to reach his hand out, but stopped in midair, dropping it back to his side. He opened his mouth, but apparently thinking better of it, closed it, nodded and got out of the car, looking back before shutting the door with a solid thud that separated me from him.

I made it to the next side street before I pulled over and sagged against the steering wheel, letting the memories of that night take me over.

**R&R please and thank you :)**


	7. Chapter 7

Ok, I wasn't planning on this, but after a few suggestion, first coming from FC Girl, I decided to try it. So here it is, Chapter 7.

*And a big thanks to Miss Alasyn (Amethyst-Blood Crimson-Tears) for beta-ing this for me!

_Truth_

The happenings of that night slowly reconstructed themselves in my mind.

It was raining, hard. The kind of rain that makes you stare in awe at the sky, wondering where all that water could come from. The kind of rain that should only be observed from the safety of your home, where you could still admire it, yet remain untouched. But that night, staying in wasn't an option. My dad, who had still been struggling to build his now-successful business, had gotten reservations to a nice restaurant; there was no way in hell that a little water was going to ruin the night he had planned, as he had said. I was to be dropped off at Aunt Lauren's and they would proceed to the restaurant. But like so many things in life, that wasn't how the night played out.

You can't plan too much or with too much detail, and I had learned that afterwards. Because, in the blink of an eye, the circumstances could drastically, permanently, change.

My dad was driving slow and being mindful of his surroundings. However, no amount of caution could have prepared him for the car that suddenly swerved into our lane, heading right at us at top speed.

It was one of those moments where time slows down. Where, while everything happened so fast—in mere seconds—I can remember every detail, even ten years later. The roads were slick and the other car was coming at us so quickly, my dad didn't have time to do anything. They knew we were going to collide and I suppose that, in that moment, they hoped with all their might that things would turn out all right. Knowing, however, did not stop my mother from screaming. Whether it was in fear, or in anguish or simply instinctually, I will never know. It was the last sound I heard before the cars crashed with astounding force, the sound of metal scraping metal and horns blaring disturbing the steady sound of the rain.

She died on impact. And just like that, my world and everything I knew, disappeared. Vanished without a moments notice, just as she had.

I didn't know how long I was in the car, letting the tears fall as freely as the rain had.

When it had first happened, the ache was constant. I missed her every second of every day. I cried for a long time, too—a whole day, it seemed like—as if crying enough would bring her back. Back to wipe my tears and make everything better. Eventually though, I had no tears left. And over time-like all scars-the ache, the longing, faded. I didn't have constant nightmares of that night and I slowly came back out of my shell. It got to the point where, while always there, missing her didn't take up the bigger part of my day. It wasn't the only thing I could focus on. It was in the background. Not consciously remembered, but never completely forgotten. Only every so often would I remember in such detail and have no choice but to let the grief take me over. To have a good cry before pushing the memories back to where I had sentenced them so I could carry on. So I could continue living my life, not in the past, but in the present, hoping that if she were here, she would be happy and proud.

Aunt Lauren had been my savior. She immediately stepped in as my pseudo-mother—and father. My own was too overcome with grief and guilt to even think about taking care of someone besides himself. Whether it was because work took his mind off things or I reminded him too much of what he had lost—for I looked exactly like her—he invested himself in his work, steadily building up what was now his life.

So it came as no surprise that when he began traveling frequently, I would stay with Aunt Lauren, only returning home when he did, which wasn't a lot. And as I grew older and more aware, I had been able to realize that the accident hadn't only taken my mother away, but my father, too. He loved me, I knew that, but I didn't think he was able to be the parent he thought I needed. And over time, I had grown okay with that, too.

A tap on my window startled me back into the present. Heart beating loudly in my ears, I looked over to see Derek standing there, watching me. Not with pity, but with a sort of sadness. One that conveyed not dismay _for _me, but rather regret that _I _had to deal with what I was dealing with.

Walking around to the passenger side, he opened the door and got in. No longer blinded by tears, another sight assaulted my eyes.

Derek, as I hadn't noticed before, was shirtless and there was a light sheen of sweat covering his skin, highlighting all the more the perfect planes of his flawless chest.

His muscles weren't big and bulky and disjointed. They simply _fit _him. Each was clearly defined; but they ran smoothly, one meeting the next in perfect continuity, like pieces of a puzzle all seamlessly aligned. It was really very distracting and I tried _very hard _not to stare to openly.

For his part, he remained silent, just gazing at me unfathomably until my breathing retuned to normal—though whether it was hitched from the breakdown or from the sight of him, I was no longer sure.

Looking at him, his eyes softened, almost unconsciously.

"Chloe?" It was just my name. But in it lay an unspoken question. He wanted to know what had caused my evident emotional breakdown. His eyes pleaded, begging me to tell him.

I couldn't _not_ tell him. He, at least, deserved to know. After all, he had saved me twice now. I owed him this much.

"My mom died in a car accident when I was six. It was raining, hard, and my dad was driving. I was in the backseat. The car came out of nowhere and he didn't have time to swerve. He didn't have time to do anything, really. And today… That car that came out of nowhere just reminded me of that night. It-it's stupid, I-I know. But I couldn't help it." Shrugging my shoulders, I looked down at my lap, trying to furtively wipe away the few tears I had unconsciously and unwillingly let escape.

He was silent for a long time, and I was grateful for it. It was enough to know that he was there. I didn't know if I'd be able to handle anything else. Whether the typical 'I'm so sorry', would aggravate me—as it usually did—or, because it would come from him, would only make me cry more.

Finally, after what seemed like hours but could only have been minutes, he spoke. "I'm sorry, Chloe. And I know you've probably heard that before. But..." His voice trailed off, but it didn't matter. I understood. Voice soft, he _did_ sound sorry. Genuinely sorry. Not because he had to be, but because he actually was.

I looked back at him and nodded, eyes watering again. Miraculously, only a single tear fell before I regained control. This time, he didn't take his hand back as he began to reach for me. He took my chin gently in his hand as his thumb, with a delicacy that took me off guard, wiped the tear away.

And with that, something broke away.

I didn't know how to explain it, but it felt as if I were open, completely exposed to him. Like a wall I hadn't known existed, crumbled away.

His hand moved from my chin, skipped lightly over my neck, down my shoulders and to my back, where it rested lightly but solidly, providing immediate comfort. I relaxed against it and laid my head against the seat, my body turned towards his.

"Are you still home alone?" he asked gravely, concern etching his tone.

"No. I'm going to my aunt's house," I replied softly, afraid to disturb what felt like our own little bubble, a world away from everything else.

"Do you want me to drive you there?"

"I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes," I replied with certainty.

He seemed adamant about believing me and I straightened. "Derek. I'm fine. I will be fine. You just caught me at a weak point. Thank you, really, but I can do this. You don't need to look after me. You've already done enough."

He made no sign of moving and gave no indication of believing me, so I narrowed my eyes at him to prove my point, which I got an eye roll for.

Nodding, albeit reluctantly, he took his hand back.

"I'll see you tomorrow."

"Okay."

Getting out, he paused to look back at me. "It's not stupid, Chloe," he said before shutting the door.

He didn't move until I drove away.

For the rest of the week, I lived life. I did my homework, worked on the script and hung with Mila and Amber. However, after the emotional roller coaster on Monday, I did not speak to Derek. While I still saw him, we never spoke. I would have thought he was ignoring me if it were not for the times I caught him staring at me curiously. And when I did, all traces of curiousness would disappear and he would hold my gaze for a moment before looking away.


	8. Chapter 8

If this were a play, then act I would be coming to an end. Thank you to the amazing readers and reviewers. I've said it before and I'll say it again; you guys are great!

A special thanks to Alasyn for being my beta :)

_Changes_

It was Tuesday after school and I was sitting across from Derek as he bent his head towards the desk separating us, drawing God only knows what—an equation maybe. Today was the first time I had had contact with him in over a week.

Last Wednesday, two days after my emotionally charged confession, I had decided that if Derek was intent on ignoring me—all the while constantly shooting glances my way—I was fine with that. Two could play at that game. If he wanted to pretend that nothing had happened, then pretend I would. At least, that's what I told myself. I caught myself frequently slipping, eyes traitorously searching for him in the hallways, across our English classroom, or in the caf. However, most disloyal of all, were my thoughts. While I told myself I didn't care—who was Derek to me anyway? My math tutor? Someone I had just begun to talk to and even so, not frequently—I couldn't push away the truth for long.

I didn't know what Derek and I were. Were we friends? Or were we two people who had somehow gotten pushed together and, because of the circumstances, couldn't seem to establish boundaries and stick within the lines? However, the one thing I did know was that Derek and I were something, even though it remained indefinable to me. In the short time I had known him, he proved to be someone I could turn to if it came to that. He simply always seemed to be there when I needed him.

And now—now that he was ignoring me—I was hurt. But more than hurt, I was angry. Who was he to decide the limits of our relationship? And, more importantly, _why _was he ignoring me? What had I done to him?

He was talking to me—trying to explain something while still bent over the page in front of him—but for the life of me I didn't know what he was saying. It's not that I didn't understand him; I usually did. It was that his words were l_iterally_ not penetrating my mind. All my energy was focused on glaring at his head.

He looked up finally, an expression of surprise overcoming his features as he took in my expression.

"What's wrong?" he asked, sounding surprised and looking perplexed.

"Nothing," I said, somewhat loftily. I knew that pretending everything was fine wouldn't get me what I wanted, which was an explanation. But I also knew that I _shouldn't _be mad at him, that he had done nothing to deserve my anger, so saying 'nothing' almost seemed justified.

He looked at me evenly, eyes only slightly narrowed, before saying coolly, "I wouldn't have pegged you as the passive aggressive type."

It sounded like an insult, but I knew it wasn't. It was his way of tempting an explanation out of me. Looking right at him I asked, "Are you—" but I couldn't finish my sentence, suddenly aware of how '_are you ignoring me_?' would sound. It was petty and so junior high. Biting my lip and looking down, the substitute came out in a rush as I realized just how badly I wanted this wall—or whatever it was that was suddenly blocking us—to go away, to crumble into a million little inconsequential pieces. "Look, about last Monday. I'm sorry. I don't know what came over me and I'm sorry you had to be there to witness it."

He was quiet for a long time and just as I was preparing to take the plunge and risk taking a peek at his face, I felt my chin being lifted lightly by his fingers.

"Why are you apologizing?" He looked confused, repentant even.

"It was just a lot to dump on you so unexpectedly and in such a short amount of time," I said quietly.

Apparently satisfied that I would no longer look away, he dropped his hand slowly. "You have nothing to apologize for."

"I j-just thought… I didn't know w-why…" Again, I let my sentence trail off, refusing to succumb to juvenile tendencies.

He looked at me carefully, as if assessing what was in front of him. Then, slowly he said, "Chloe, I haven't been ignoring you, if that's what you've been trying to get at."

The confirmation was all I needed. I deflated in relief, releasing tension I hadn't known I was hanging on to.

We were quiet then, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of my insanity. Truly, I felt crazy, slightly bipolar. I didn't know why Derek had this effect on me, but he did. This past week, I had been in a slump. I didn't feel like myself and I felt exposed, not in a safe way, but in a raw way. It wasn't until now that I realized Derek, of all people, had a lot to do with it. He interrupted my reverie, saying, "Are you going to be able to focus today?"

Exhaling and shooting him an apologetic look, I said, "No."

"Well, then I don't know what to do." He seemed frustrated by this, as if he severely disliked anything he hadn't planned for or premeditated.

"We could do something," I suggested hesitantly.

"What do you mean by 'do something?'"

"I mean something completely unrelated to math." I honestly didn't know where this was coming from. But once the words left my mouth, it dawned on me how badly I wanted this, how badly I wanted to just be with him in a non-academic and emotionally stable way.

"That would be very irresponsible. Williams expects me to tutor you, not to go gallivanting through the town."

"Don't you ever have fun?" I challenged.

That did something to him. I saw something in his eyes shift and his chin jutted out, almost, it seemed, unconsciously. I smiled internally. This was another thing I could add to my list: Derek wasn't one to pass up a challenge. He wasn't one to back down.

He rested his elbows on the table and I leaned forward. "On one condition."

"Name your price."  
"I'm tutoring you tomorrow and I don't care if you're bored or not. You're sitting through a whole hour of geometry whether you like it or not." His eyes flashed. He was enjoying this.

Swallowing a groan and fighting back a smile, I held out my hand. "Deal."

He rolled his eyes, lips twitching, and lightly pushed my hand away. This time, I didn't hold back my smile.

"I need to stop somewhere first," he warned.

"Fine with me."

I found myself face to face with the door to Mr. Williams' classroom. I turned to Derek and crossed my arms, looking at him accusatorily, "Nothing math related, remember?"

Knocking, he looked down at me, "This'll only take a second."

Mr. Williams opened the door, and seeing us, broke into a wide grin. It was odd. His smile always seemed so cute to me, but now I found it came too easily, like it wasn't anything special because it was always there.

"Ah, Mr. Souza and Ms. Saunders, what can I do for you?"

"I just need that book you said you got for me," Derek replied.

His eyes lit up in recollection and he led us into the classroom. Rifling through the stacks of papers on his desk, he took a second to look up at me. "I corrected the test you had last week, Chloe." He said it almost impassively; as if it were something unimportant he just happened to remember. But his eyes were conveying something different, something I couldn't identify because he seemed to be consciously keeping his expression guarded.

That simple sentence destroyed all the excitement I had felt towards my approaching time alone with Derek, replacing it with dread. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Derek stiffen. This was it. Granted, I still needed to be tutored, but this test would be indicative of whether or not I was as hopeless as I thought.

He handed us our respective packages simultaneously. I only had time to register–with wide eyes—the title of the book he handed to Derek, _Advanced Ordinary Differential Equations, _before my test was thrust into my hands, face down to torture me further.

I didn't know if I could do it. Derek and Williams were both watching me, impatiently and expectantly. Derek began to reach for it and I danced away from him. Then, turning it over slowly, I braced myself.

Looking down, time seemed to stop as I read the number circled in red at the top of the page. 80.

I was still looking at it when Derek, who had moved to stand in front of me, snapped, "Well?"

I couldn't help it. I threw myself at him—and while caught off guard—he managed to catch me. We locked eyes for a few moments, one looping into the next, until Mr. Williams cleared his throat. Derek set me down, taking the test from my hands, as right on cue, my cheeks turned scarlet.

"Well, what did I tell you? I knew this would work out," he said, beaming proudly, just as Derek, while flipping through the test, muttered, "Not bad."

Saying our goodbyes, Derek and I walked out of the class together.

"This is pretty good, Chloe," he was saying, referring to the test. "But there's still some stuff we should work on. Maybe tomorrow—"

"You really are brilliant," I said, cutting him off.

"I'm not—"

"That book he gave you. Is it for a high school course? Because last time I checked, it wasn't part of the class selection," I opposed.

He chose to ignore me—I needed to figure out a way for him to stop doing that—instead leading me out the front doors and to his car.

"Where do you want to go?" he questioned, once we were settled.

I thought for a moment. I didn't want to go to Franny's; I didn't want to go anywhere crowded for that matter. It felt as if people would only end up intruding and serving as a distraction. And that was the last thing I wanted.

"Just drive."

Walking up the pathway to Aunt Lauren's, I couldn't help but smile. Derek had never seemed so relaxed to me and it was just another thing I could add to the catalog. We ended up driving to an abandoned movie theatre I knew of and stayed in the park car, talking until it was time to head home. He talked to me about science—I knew, it was still kind of math-y, but the gleam in his eyes when he spoke kept me from saying anything. And to be honest, I actually liked it. He told me about what he wanted to study when he got out of the cement block called high school—genetics at Stanford. And he explained why, talking about nature versus nurture and which could be more credited and how to him, genetics was the harmonious match of chemistry and biology, his favorite subjects for a myriad of reasons I couldn't even begin to list. And I, in turn told him about my own small hopes and dreams—go to UCLA and study film in the hopes of one day catching a break, not to be on the big screen, but behind it. He asked about the play, I asked about football. One thing flowed effortlessly into the next until, too soon for me, it was time to return to reality.

On the ride home, we played a game. Fascinated, jubilant even, by his stellar math skills, I would question him on his multiplication tables, throwing in an exponent or bracket for fun, calculator in hand, shocked that every answer, he got right. The game went both ways, though. After he was done being interrogated, it was my turn in the hot seat. He would name a year—between 1929 and now—and I would list off the movie that had won the Oscar for best picture, best screenplay, best director and best producer.

However, the closer we got to town, the quieter he became, as if, unlike me, he knew reality was setting back in and wasn't trying to deny it or put it off. By the time he dropped me off, he had almost been completely quiet and even his goodbye was. Quiet that is, sounding regretful, angry and reminiscent all at once.

The smile slipped off my face and I stood, facing the door, puzzled. I couldn't think of any reason for his sudden change of mood, but there obviously was one. I felt weirdly anxious and the only comforting thought was that I would see him tomorrow, even if it would be while doing math.

Walking into the house, I saw Aunt Lauren standing in the foyer, waiting for me with a huge smile plastered on her face. Coming over to me, she pulled me into a hug before stepping away while still keeping her arms around me.

"Mr. Williams called and told me about the eighty you just got. I'm so proud, Chloe. I told you, you could do it. All you needed was a little help and some determination. Speaking of, who's the miracle boy to thank for all of this?"

"Derek Souza." I was about to add more, but her expression changed and her arms fell away from me. She looked worried and disdainful at the same time.

"What?" I asked apprehensively.

"I don't want you around him any more than strictly necessary. Got it?" The way she said 'him' made Derek sound like something thoroughly unpleasant.

"Why?" I asked, heart beginning to hammer hollowly.

She considered me for a few tense moments before biting her lip. "What I'm about to tell you, you can't mention to anyone else," she stopped to regard me and I nodded impatiently, wondering if I should be worried about how quickly my heart was beating.

"When Derek and his family first moved here, the parent council held a meeting regarding whether or not he should be let into the school. Derek was present and his father was there to advocate for him. The majority were in favor of his entrance," the way she said this indicated that she wasn't part of that group, "even though some of us remained—and still do—adamant."

"Why?" I was quiet, afraid of the answer.

Biting her lip again—a nervous habit I had picked up from her—she went on, "There was an incident at Derek's old school, an altercation between him and another boy. The details are foggy, but the boy's head ended up cracking open and he was in a coma for a while. He came out of it, but the brain damage is permanent," she said this last bit regretfully, lifting up her hand to rub my shoulder before leaving me standing alone—with my thoughts—in the foyer.

**R&R :)**


	9. Chapter 9

And chapter 9! This is the beginning of "part two". The rest of the story is planned out-I just need to actually write it :p Thanks once again to all the amazing reviewers and readers-you always improve my day :)

_Changes_

I sat at my desk in nervous anticipation, waiting for Derek to walk into the door. I wanted to look at him objectively and see if I could reconcile the Derek I knew and the picture of him Aunt Lauren had tried to paint for me.

After she had dropped the bomb—and I had been stunned into immobility for a few minutes—I willed myself up to the safety of my room where I could organize my scattered thoughts and reign in the emotion. Sitting on my bed, I slowly went over what she had told me, repeating her words carefully over and over in my mind until I knew it so well it could have been a story I'd known since birth.

After recovering from the initial shock, panic took over. I _couldn't _believe Derek had done something like that. When did he? And why? It was ten long minutes—which at the time felt like hours—of emotional upheaval as I thought of Derek, _Derek, _doing something like that. And as the images looped through my mind, the more surreal it seemed. For while I could picture it happening, I could never actually picture Derek playing any part in such a horrible accident. Yes, he was big. Broad, solid, muscular and dark, he screamed danger. But I simply couldn't believe that something like that would happen without explanation, that he would be involved in such an accident without having reason to. And as that resoluteness set in, so did rationality.

Aunt Lauren _had_ said that she couldn't remember the details, and I wasn't about to jump to conclusions. If anything, I just needed to talk to Derek, to clear up any ambiguity. However, even _I_ wasn't that optimistic as to believe I would be able to broach the topic without any consequences. At the same time though, there was no way I wasn't _not _going to find out.

As I mulled over how to go about gathering the information I needed, fragments of random instances started to thread themselves together, suddenly making sense. The cold, suspicious glares Derek always got from the librarian; the way Mrs. Cameron's—our English teacher—eyes would always skip over him, barely acknowledging his presence; and finally, the way Aunt Lauren spoke of him, like he was someone condemned, undeserving of forgiveness for something that was—in my mind—undoubtedly a mistake.

These people believed that Derek was defined by the accident and they were constantly wary of him, on guard as if at any given moment, Derek would do it again, as if he were unremorseful or uncaring. They felt that because of what had happened, he was a lesser person, unworthy of fair judgment or sympathy.

And, in a stroke of bittersweet clarity, Derek made a little more sense to me. It was no wonder he wasn't social; he stuck with his family—declaring they were all he needed—because they were the only ones who weren't always looking at him through the corner of their eyes, wondering what damage he would do next. The ever-present scowl—or at least frown—was also easier to understand. Judged not by who you are but by what you've done for who knows how long can only have negative effects after too long.

I didn't feel bad for Derek.

It was more of an aching sadness. Sad that this was what he had to carry around.

Now, I was anxiously awaiting his arrival, desperate to see him—the person I knew—and to see if my night of reflection would make him seem any different to me. Watching the door like a hawk, I still wasn't completely prepared for his entrance. His hulking frame filled the door and my breath caught in my throat—not in fear or in nervousness, but in the way it always did when his eyes met mine, as they did now. I could see conflict in their depths, as if he were waging an internal battle. They remained hesitant for a few moments longer before his jaw set in a way I began to recognize as the strengthening of his resolve. He made his way over to me and slid into the seat next to mine. In any other case, this move wouldn't be monumental, not even worth mentioning. But this was Derek. And that itself is enough of an explanation.

"Morning," I murmured.

"Morning," he replied, clearing his throat.

My eyes scanned over his face, immediately noticing the circles under his eyes and the almost natural way his mouth was slightly downturned. My heart leapt at that, the sadness from last night returning. Besides that, I didn't feel any differently than I had before I'd known. Derek was still Derek, if anything just less of a mystery. My conviction that what had happened had been an accident and nothing else increased while looking him over. I knew—simply, certainly knew—that Derek would never do something like that purposefully. Imagining the guilt he must carry around—undoubtedly blaming himself after who knows how long of others doing so—my grief only increased and introspectively, I felt like snorting. This was such a classic storyline: the heroine who desperately tries to heal the broken boy—_her _broken boy. My cheeks flamed and I quickly reminded myself that Derek was in no way, shape or form, _mine. _But that didn't stop me from finally being able to understand a plot I had previously scoffed at. My fingers ached to smooth out the frown lines, especially around his surprisingly soft mouth… _and that was enough of that_, I thought hurriedly, sliding a peek at him to make sure he wasn't looking—sure he'd be able to read my thoughts on my face if he were. He _was_ watching me and in an attempt to save face, I asked quickly, "Tired," pointedly looking at the bags under his eyes and his hair, which was in endearing disarray.

He studied me for a moment before shrugging. I may have made a sound meant to be empathetic, but I was too busy mentally berating myself to be sure. Shooting him a quick smile, I turned to the front of the class, trying in vain to pay attention for the hour.

* * *

"What's he doing here," Amber wondered aloud as we huddled together conspiratorially on the stage.

"I don't know. The only thing I'm certain about is that he's almost as yummy as his brother," Mila replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

She was referring to Simon, who—for reasons yet to be announced—had joined our drama class for the hour.

"Speaking of," Mila said, turning her devilish grin on me, "how is our favorite math tutor?"

"Fine," I murmured, just as Mrs. Evans called the class to order and I gratefully turned my attention to her.

"This is Simon Bae," she said, motioning to his smiling form beside her. "He's been gracious enough to renounce his study period for the time being to help with set design. He's very talented and I'm sure you'll all be very grateful for him once we get started."

All the girls looked _very _happy about the unexpected addition; and while some boys looked unimpressed, others had developed that territorial pout that indicated someone was intruding on their turf.

"Chloe," she said, turning her eyes on me. "As you and Nate have written the script, you'll be directors of set design, instructing on what needs to be done. Simon will be under your wing so you can properly explain your vision. Got it?"

I nodded my head, blushing for everyone was looking at me—some enviously—as Simon directed his gaze my way, smile turning charming.

"Lucky beotch," Mila muttered good-naturedly beside me.

I tried for a smile, but I was distracted by Simon—who was walking slowly toward me.

I was packing up my bag and putting the script away, drama coming to an end and my hour with Derek minutes away. After the first five minutes, I quickly felt at ease with Simon, who had the ability to joke while still remaining serious. Mrs. Evans was right; he truly was talented. He understood my vision and even in the quick sketches he had done to accompany my verbal commentary, I could tell that the sets would be beautiful.

"Hi," said a voice to my right.

Jumping, I looked up to see Simon standing over me, laughing.

"Skittish as a kitten," he said, shaking his head.

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever," I muttered, but I couldn't keep a straight face, his smile was so infectious.

Suddenly turning serious, he asked, "You're going to meet up with Derek now, right?"

"Yeah, why," I asked, confused by the sudden change of subject.

"Just wondering," he said casually. But his eyes said something else, something I couldn't understand, and I continued to look at him dubiously until he looked away.

Sighing, he looked back carefully and I wanted to ask if that was a family trait or an odd coincidence, but I kept my mouth shut.

"It's nothing. I've just noticed that Derek seems to be in a better mood since you've been hanging out. But yesterday…. I don't know. He was just off. He seemed upset, so I was wondering if you too had gotten into a fight."

"N-no, nothing happened. I-I don't know what was wrong," I said, alarm overcoming the sense of shock that came with the revelation that he thought I had something to do with Derek's improvement in temperament.

"I don't know. Sometimes Derek's like that. Like I said, I was just wondering," he said, shrugging. Throwing me one last smile, he turned and walked away. Completely disregarding final bell, I walked out of the auditorium and hurried to the library, anxious and determined to get this cleared up.

* * *

Walking into the library, I saw Derek at out usual table and headed over. Looking surprised, he said, "You're here ea-"

"Are you mad," I interrupted.

"At you? Why would I be mad at you?" he seemed thoroughly confused and I realized that I should have better orchestrated this in my mind.

"I was talking to Simon and he told me that when you got home yesterday, you seemed upset and-and I was j-just wondering if I had done something…" I trailed off, voice going quiet. I sounded absurd, but the emotions that were quickly flitting across his face distracted me and I didn't have the capacity to care. Finally, he composed himself and pulled on an emotionless mask.

"You were talking to Simon about me? Since when do you talk to Simon?" While his voice was controlled—low, but nevertheless controlled—his eyes conveyed slight anger and betrayal and I was suddenly intensely aware of how this could be misinterpreted.

"I don't talk to Simon," I said quickly, wondering why I cared that he wasn't under that impression.

He looked at me questioningly before saying, "Really," his voice thick with sarcasm.

"I wasn't talking _about _you _to _Simon," I snapped. Did he really think so little of me? His eyes widened marginally in surprise—probably from my tone—and I blew out a breath of frustration and plowed on, "Simon was in my drama class today—which was the first time we've ever really spoken," I added, eyes narrowing. "He was helping with set design. When class ended, he came up to me asking if we had gotten into a fight because he said that when you got home yesterday, you seemed upset. He was _concerned _and wondered if I had an explanation since we had been together. I didn't—don't—so…" I trailed off, dropping my hands heavily at my side.

"I'm not mad at you," he said lowly.

All that and I get a five word reply. It was maddening.

"Well, _were_ you upset? Did something happen?"

He looked down for a second before meeting my gaze again, something in his eyes shifting, hardening.

"I was tired when he saw me," he said definitely.

"The tired excuse, Derek? Really?" Did he think I was _that _blonde?

He narrowed his eyes at me and I jutted my chin out defiantly. Letting out a frustrated sigh, he said, "Yes, _tired_. After I dropped you off, I needed to pick something up for my dad. Coming home, I hit really bad traffic and I hate being in cars."

"You hate being in cars," I asked, mind wandering to yesterday.

His thoughts must have taken him in the same direction for he said, "Not _in _them. I just hate long car rides. And I really hate traffic." He looked at me and then added, "They make me restless."

His explanation was flawless, perfectly sound, but for some reason I still didn't believe him. I couldn't push the subject, though, because I had no proof—just a feeling. Instead, I nodded. "Okay. Glad we got that cleared up," I said unnecessarily. His lips quirked up and I bit my lip. Reaching down to get my books, he asked, "Are you coming tomorrow night?"

I looked up at him, not having one iota of an idea of what he was talking about. My confusion must have been clear on my face for he rolled his eyes and said, "You are probably the least spirited person at this school."

"Besides you?" I said teasingly, getting a look for that.

Sighing, I asked, "Your point?"

"There's a football game tomorrow night. Are you coming?"

And, as it always seems to around Derek, my answer came without thought. "Yes."

* * *

I walked onto the field and scanned the rapidly filling bleachers, looking for Mila and Amber, who I had agreed to meet here. I saw Amber and waved, and as I was making my way towards them, Derek appeared, blocking my path. I snuck a peek at Mila—who's bugged out eyes I could see from where I stood—before turning my gaze upwards. He was rubbing the back of his neck and looked slightly uncomfortable.

"What's up," I asked, wondering about his sudden need to stop me in my tracks. He wasn't in uniform yet; he was wearing dark jeans and a black sweater that looked astoundingly soft and really brought out the green in his eyes—I'm a moviemaker wannabe, we notice these things.

Pushing his hair away from his face, he asked, "Are you planning on walking home alone again tonight?"

"Yeah, why," I asked, puzzled.

His eyes flared up in anger, but it was gone just as fast as it had come.

"Wait for me when the game's over. I'm walking you home."

"It's fi—"

"No, it's not fine. It's indisputable. I'm walking you home," he said, voice holding a note of finality.

"I can look after myself, thank you very much," I replied indignantly. I didn't know why I was being difficult. I thought it was sweet that Derek wanted to walk me home—more surprisingly, I realized that I _wanted _him to walk me home. But I also didn't want him to think that I was in need of constant saving, that I was the inexhaustible damsel in distress.

"I never said you couldn't."

"It was implicit."

"No, Chloe. It was you putting words in my mouth. Why are you being difficult," he asked, irritation becoming evident.

"The only reason you want to walk me home is because you're afraid that what happened last time might happen again."

He looked incredulous. "Is that a bad thing?"

"You think I haven't learned my lesson. That I _still_ wouldn't know what to do if it came down to that."

"You wouldn't. You would be exponentially safer with me around. That's undeniable, but it's also beside the point. I'm not saying you're defenseless. I'm saying that I'd much rather walk you home and _know _you're safe than sit at home and wonder," he said, frustration and intensity seeping into his tone. His eyes widened fractionally and I thought that maybe, he hadn't meant to tell me that much.

But it didn't matter.

The effect of his words was immediate; I softened and my heart thumped oddly, unevenly, in my chest for a moment. He _cared_ and that spoke volumes.

"Okay," I said quietly, resignedly, all the while attempting not to swoon.

"God, Chloe. Talk about being dramatic. I thought you were a 'behind the scenes kind of girl,'" he said, using my own words against me.

I rolled my eyes and stuck my tongue out at him, receiving a laugh, which brought on a smile on my part.

"See you after the game then," I said.

He nodded and just as he was turning to walk away, he paused and I thought for a brief moment that he was going to say something more. But his jaw set and he continued on his way.

"Derek!" I called, surprising myself.

He stopped and turned around, looking at me questioningly.

"Good luck."

He made a face, one I hadn't seen before and I was enraptured. It was a mix of his usual quirk of the lips and a smirk—a sexy, mysterious smirk that pushed me over the edge and made me realize just how crazy—just how deep in—I was.

Walking towards Mila and Amber in a daze, I was surprised that I saw Liam, the quarterback, watching me. But I did. And the look in his eyes forced chills down my spine and made me quicken my pace, wanting to distance myself as much and as quickly as possible.

**Hehe... another cliffy. R&R :)**


	10. Chapter 10

I know, I know, I haven't updated in forever. But I have been **extremely **busy with school... Either way, I had this written and was planning on adding onto it, but I felt like such a slacker author that I decided to post. It's short and some people are probably going to despise me for the way I ended it, but it's an eye for an eye. It's short, but it's a tide over until Sunday or Monday. Once again, thanks to the amazing readers and reviwers! :)

Enjoy :)

_The sound of my own heart_

Sitting on the bleachers as the last of the excited crowd shuffled off the field, I pulled my jacket tighter against me as a means of blocking the chill evening air. It was November; the days were getting shorter, the nights colder, and football season was coming to an end. Looking around, I saw that I was literally the only person still in the field, everyone else having left for celebratory festivities. Except for the players, who had hit the showers after some type of elusive, flawless play—according to Amber—had been made that had secured their victory.

The night took on a sudden eerie quality and I told my movie-making self to snap out of it, that I was just being paranoid. However, I became more vigilant, more aware of my surroundings and if I hadn't, I probably wouldn't have noticed him walking towards me. For a brief moment, I thought he was Derek because they shared similar builds; but when I got a better look, had more time to register the slow, predatory walk and the leering face, I knew it wasn't.

It was Liam.

When our eyes met, a slow smile spread across his face, making me want to shudder in response. Finally, getting close enough to be within hearing range, he called, "Hey there pretty girl. Haven't seen you around before."

I said nothing, and his smile grew wider. Walking up the stairs and coming to sit beside me, he raised his hand to my hair and pushed it away from my face. I stiffened and moved away, wary of where this was going. His touch made me uncomfortable. It made me feel as if there were a thousand insects crawling on my skin. And I didn't know whether it was his overall demeanor or if my feelings were triggered by his immediate actions, but he made me uneasy. While Derek looked liked danger—even though he wasn't—there wasn't a doubt in my mind that Liam was just that. Trouble. Dangerous.

"What's your name pretty girl," he asked, voice low and eyes narrowed and amused as he watched me squirm.

I didn't know where the revelation came from, but I suddenly knew that I couldn't be scared. He was thriving off my fear and I couldn't—wouldn't—let him have the upper hand.

Taking a deep breath, I said, "Chloe," amazed that my stutter was actually cooperating.

"Chloe," he said, as if testing it out. "Well, Chloe, pretty girls like you shouldn't be all alone out here at night. It seems to me like you'd need someone to protect you. But here you are, alone and defenseless."

Derek's voice from weeks ago rang in my mind and I was reminded that I wasn't alone—at least, I wouldn't be for long.

Standing up, I decided to cut our time short. "Actually, I'm just waiting for somebody. But, now that you mention it, I think I'm going to go find him."

He looked at me with angry eyes, but said nothing. Passing him and walking quickly down the stairs, I allowed myself to take a deep breath, relieved that that had gone smoothly. Nearing the bottom, I heard his pounding footsteps behind me and as I was about to look back, he grabbed me by the elbow and spun me around, irritation having replaced the anger in his eyes. I fought to escape from his grasp, which only made him hold on more tightly, beginning to hurt me.

"C'mon Chloe, we don't know each other. I'm sure I can show you a better time than whoever it is you're waiting for. So why don't you just come with me and I promise you won't regret it."

"No thanks," I said angrily. I didn't know who I was angrier with, though. Him or me.

Something flashed in his eyes—gone before I could place it—but it left enough of an impression to scare me. I had been pushing the panic aside since he had first approached me, but now it dominated, eliminating all other thoughts, all other feelings. He wanted me to go with him and wasn't going to relent, and at this point, I didn't know what else I could do, how else I could fight.

If possible, his grip tightened even more and just as I was about to scream or lash out or _something_, the sound of another voice took me—took both of us—off guard.

"Let go of her," Derek commanded, jaw clenched and eyes flashing.

My heart beat immediately slowed and I allowed myself to relax. Now that Derek was here, I couldn't help but feel safe, protected.

Liam was shocked enough that his grip on my arm loosened and that was all I needed to yank it out of his grasp. Derek had been approaching us and once I was free, he gently took my hand and led me down the rest of the way. Then, placing me behind him, he turned to face Liam and gave him what I could only imagine was a death glare.

Whether from relief, or still from fear, my heart began to beat quickly again and Derek—probably feeling it for I was standing so close to him—reached back and took my hand in his, gently running his thumb along the length of it in a rhythmic, soothing way.

Hearing Liam laugh, I looked around Derek to see him walking down the stairs and coming towards us, eyes conveying a mix of derisiveness and incredulousness.

"Well, well, who would've known? Derek's got himself a girl. I was just telling her that I'd be able to show her a better time than her mystery man would be able to, and now, I can say that with certainty."

Derek was rigid and when he spoke, his voice was low and barely controlled. "Leave her alone."

"I don't know if I'd be able to do that. Look at her, so tiny and blonde. Just the way I like 'em."

Derek's thumb stopped dead in its tracks and I think he may have stopped breathing for a moment.

Forcing out a breath and pulling himself up—making him seem even bigger than he already was—he said evenly, "If you so much as go near her, you'll regret it," his voice holding the weight of his threat.

Liam met Derek's glare defiantly, but after a few tense moments, looked away. Chuckling to himself, he passed by us—too close for comfort, on my part—and whispered, "For now," before leaving Derek and I alone on the empty field, unmoving and barely blinking, the only audible sound being the hard beating of our hearts.

**Me and the cliffies :p hehe... R&R :)**


	11. Chapter 11

One day late, but here nonetheless. Derek and Chloe's relationship needed to begin to change and I hope it's evident in this chapter. Thanks once again to all the amazing readers and reviewers :)

_Realizing _

As my heart slowed and I gradually regained my mental faculties, I allowed myself to relax and look around, making sure he was, without a doubt, gone. He was, and breathing out a quiet sigh of relief, I stepped out from behind the protective barrier that was Derek's back and decided to focus my attention on him, for he remained rooted in place, still not moving. Placing myself in front of him, it wasn't until I put my hand on his chest that his eyes snapped down to mine, expression immediately softening. He didn't say anything; he simply held my gaze, eyes roaming over the rest of me before quickly returning to look at me. Behind his controlled expression, I could see fear and concern and relief. There seemed to be pain too, but I didn't know why and couldn't pinpoint a reason for it. Then, still saying nothing, he moved his hands to my torso, one holding onto my waist while the other went up to the zipper of my jacket.

I stopped breathing and my heart sped up astronomically as an array of images—_fantasies, _the voice of reason in my mind corrected—flashed in front of me, each more tantalizing than the previous.

But this was Derek. Not only was he most likely not interested; he was also exponentially more respectful and incessantly responsible. He unzipped my jacket slowly—not helping the hitch in my breathing I was desperately trying to keep imperceptible—and carefully took my right arm out of the sleeve, using the hand that was on my waist to support my elbow. With delicate fingers, he rolled up my sleeve, gently skimming them across my forearm almost unintentionally. Suspicions confirmed, the hand that held my elbow tightened momentarily and he closed his eyes tightly, the pained expression I had glimpsed hidden behind his lids. I looked down and saw the five bruises that clearly dotted the skin around my elbow, each one occupying the spots Liam's fingers had.

Looking up at Derek, I said quietly, "It's fine. They're just bruises. They don't even hurt that much. I-"

He had opened his eyes and looked at me unfathomably, though now his expression changed, anger evident in his eyes, "They're not _just_ bruises, Chloe." Jaw clenched, he paused for a moment before continuing quietly, "Did he touch you anywhere else?"

He waited expectantly, tension visible in his stance, though his expression was now completely unreadable.

"No."

He breathed out a sigh filled with relief and I could feel his heartbeat beneath my hand return to normal.

"If he so much as _looks _at you twice, you need to tell me."

I nodded with attempted sharpness, trying to fight through the almost overwhelming anxiety that suddenly ceased at me now that I was safe. As Derek had predicted, the same thing had happened. And just like the last time, I hadn't known what to do. The only difference was that this time, the danger was so much more real, so much more tangible. If he hadn't been here, if he had shown up just a minute later, I can say with certainty that something terrible would have happened. As scenarios ran through my mind, Derek's strong, commanding voice broke through my mental turmoil.

"Chloe," he said, and I had no choice but to look at him. When he saw that he had my full attention, he continued, "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. Okay? I won't let him hurt you."

Liam would hurt me. He would when he had the chance. That was the undeniable, daunting truth. I was intensely aware of every bruise on my arm and his chilling words, confidant stance and predatory smile were etched in my mind, unforgettable. There was the flash in his eyes too, the one that had revealed what lay behind the mask. He wouldn't mind hurting me. He _wanted _to_. _

Stepping closer to him—not knowing that was even possible considering our proximity—I asked, "W-what am I going to d-do? Go to administration?" It wasn't like I could. Sure I had the bruises, but Liam was big and I was small. He could claim not knowing his own strength or not knowing about my fragility. Not to mention that while his threat was implicit, he hadn't actually said anything directly that could be considered as such. With any protest, there was an explanation laying in wait. There was nothing I could do and that, perhaps, was scariest of all.

Derek's jaw hardened and his fist clenched almost involuntarily at his side—our side for he had also stepped closer to me. "You can't go to administration. They won't do anything to help you; they'll have an explanation for everything. The bottom line is that Liam is untouchable. He's the school's star quarterback—we haven't had a losing season for three years because of him," I could hear the quotation marks in his words, but chose only to raise an eyebrow. Ignoring me, he continued, "The school—more specifically Principal Dimarco—isn't going to risk losing that. Liam walks around like he owns the place. It's disgusting, but it's practically true. They won't do anything to upset him and they ignore anything that would risk his position on the team," he finished vehemently.

I nodded, unsurprised by this. While the school was diverse in its extracurriculars, most of the money and the attention still went into sports.

Derek continued and the intensity and the promise in his tone made me look back up, "But I meant what I said, Chloe. I won't let him hurt you." He meant it. He really did. I could see it in his eyes, feel it in his words. He was willing to protect me when no one else would.

"You shouldn't be looking out for me all the time," I reasoned truthfully. Derek seemed to constantly be rescuing me, be saving me from some dire situation or picking me up off the ground after I've fallen to pieces. But he simply shouldn't have to—shouldn't even be doing so. He had careened into my life a little over a month ago and I still wasn't even sure of how to define our relationship. I didn't want to be a burden and he shouldn't have to accept the responsibility because it was convenient to whatever twist of fate had me suddenly in need of a savior—which was also ridiculous because aside from obvious stature limitations, I could take care of myself.

As I was about to elaborate on my perfectly sound objection, he interrupted me, "Can't I just get a 'thank you'?"

"Thank you," I said, eyes never leaving his.

He sighed, running his fingers through his dark, shiny hair. "What do you want me to say? What else do you want from me," he asked, irritation seeping into his tone. As perverse as it was, I always slightly enjoyed it when Derek got riled up or aggravated. He wasn't as controlled and it made it so much easier to communicate without worrying.

"That's just it. Nothing. I don't want anything else from you. In the month that we've known each other, you've done more from me than almost anyone I've ever known. _And you just shouldn't_—"

He cut me off, "Chloe," he said sharply. "Will you please, for the love of God, just _shut up_ and be complacent?" I think my jaw dropped. How _dare_ he—

"I know that sounded rude, but frankly, I don't care. I needed to get the point across. Chloe, you're not going to win this, so the sooner you accept it, the better," he finished, jaw jutting stubbornly out.

I was speechless—literally unable to form a coherent sentence for a while because of his direct delivery. I knew Derek wasn't one to beat around the bush, waste words, but still… Finally, attempting to keep intact any semblance of self-respect, I said, "If you ever tell me to shut up again…" I trailed off, letting his mind fill in the blank with a significant threat.

He looked amused as he replied, "Won't ever happen again."

We quieted for a few moments and I noticed again how close we were—we were touching and yet, we weren't touching at all, as maddening and confusing as that sounds. If he put his arms—his strong arms—around me, I'd be enveloped in security, completely closed off from everything except Derek.

"Chloe," he said my name quietly, as if afraid to disturb the sudden peace that had descended upon us.

I looked up at him questioningly. Suddenly, our odd form of closeness wasn't enough for me. I _wanted_ him to hug me for I knew with a hug from him, I'd feel undoubtedly safe. I also knew that, if nothing else had been an indication, I had completely lost my mind.

"Are you going to be home alone again," he asked, eyes gauging my response. I nodded a bit reluctantly, though he seemed unfazed.

"Do you want to go home?" His question was tentative, as if, while having thought about it, he still wasn't sure if he should be asking it.

I realized with his words how strong my feelings were against going home. Being alone in an empty house was the last thing that would reassure me, that would make me feel at ease and help me sleep easier. It was childish and weak—I had an alarm system for God's sake—but it was also true and it seemed that Derek not only understood that, he was also the only one that _I_ thought would be able to do anything about it.

"No," I whispered.

He nodded understandingly and we were silent. Then, as if some greater force were guiding me, I looked at him and found that he was looking at me. Our eyes locked, and suddenly, green was all I could see for his were so intently focused on me. Some new emotion rose within them, one that made my heart speed up. However, I saw as doubt began to encroach on his thoughts and slowly, I could see the dimming of his eyes, the regain of control. Acting purely on impulse, I leaned my head against his chest, closed my eyes and waited—for what, I didn't know. The effect though, was immediate. Derek seemed to release some inner tension and I felt him relax, breathing out a sigh that slightly ruffled my hair. I opened my eyes and looked up at him and Derek, being Derek, didn't look away. What I needed at the moment was communicated tacitly and, eyes never leaving mine, one of his warm hands slowly weaved around to my lower back as the other went cautiously up to my hair. Running his fingers gently down the length—slightly skimming the side of my face—he continued down my torso until his hand met the other behind me.

His breath seemed shallow and I was surprised my legs hadn't completely given out.

The physical contact—as I had suspected—provided more comfort than any words could. But the _feeling—_that was indescribable. Every nerve in my body was alighted; it felt as if they had been set on fire.

Regaining equanimity—and still looking at him—I brought my hands up and around to his back, lightly skipping over his obliques. He closed his eyes briefly before guiding my head back onto his chest. His arms tightened around me and for a moment, it felt as if the world had stopped turning, leaving us completely together and alone. Despite our differences in stature, I seemed to fit perfectly within the curve of his body.

Then, without warning, and far too soon for my liking, he let go and stepped back, eyes cautious once more. But to my delight, I could still see a fiery intensity within their depths, one that he seemed to be trying to control. Spinning me around to face the parking lot, he began walking, his hand on my lower back, and I followed without protest, still caught up in whatever had just happened. But morbid curiosity got the better of me for I couldn't keep quiet for long.

"Where are we going?"

"To get something to eat."

* * *

It was Monday morning yet again and, like clockwork, Nate was talking to me about something or other. Nodding along absent mindedly, my mind was wandering when unexpectedly, Nate was blocked from view. Looking over and up, I saw Derek was the one who had separated me from my now-indignant comrade.

Smiling, I asked, "What are you doing?"

"Saving you from the boy who cannot take a hint." His voice was low and directed at me, so the boy in question was practically bouncing with barely contained curiosity as he tried to decipher what was being said.

Laughing, he guided me away from my locker and towards our classroom. I threw a quick goodbye over my shoulder, but it was half-hearted and I think we all knew it.

"So how was the rest—" whatever I was about to say quickly disappeared as Liam came into view, casually leaning against a locker talking to someone. I saw Derek tense beside me and if I hadn't been so overcome with anxiety, I would have reached out to him. When Liam saw us, he leered momentarily at me before his eyes slid towards Derek, narrowing. The mask slipped away yet again and I saw a sort of sadistic competitiveness on the surface. Derek moved behind me and, with a hand on my back, made a beeline for the classroom. Taking our seats beside each other, he was oddly quiet and remained so for the rest of class. I couldn't identify what seemed different about this silence compared to his usual, but something about it made me nervous and wary, as if I should try with all my might to keep it from stretching on.

The rest of the week was the same and by Friday, I was angry enough and worried enough to throw all semblance of tact aside and get to the bottom of what was going on. Derek Souza needed to be explained, the mystery unraveled, if we were going to get anywhere. I needed to be able to understand why he acted the way he did. Aside from tutoring—which was still mostly silent, all evidence of the playful banter I had grown accustomed to gone—Derek had studiously ignored me for the whole week. Aside from the looks—the looks that continued to drive me insane—there was no contact. He didn't talk to me, he didn't save me from Nate, and he had even started to come into English barely before the bell to assure that there was no possibility for conversation. So, with a somewhat shaky resolve, I approached Simon at the end of drama on Friday, intent on destroying any residue of ambiguity. I was sure that the accident had affected Derek in some way, but I needed to know what had actually happened to figure out in what specific manner that was true. And because Derek sure as hell wouldn't tell me what had happened, I prayed that Simon—with a little wheedling—would.

"Simon," I asked tentatively, approaching him hesitantly.

He turned towards me with a smile and I could only hope that his sunny disposition would remain intact after my motive had become known.

**I know, I know, the cliffies. Don't hate me. Instead, R&R ;)**


	12. Chapter 12

This is an early Christmas-or Hannukah, Kwanza, Christmaska, Festivus, whatever you celebrate-present. Anyone who reads this story is great and anyone who reviews is great. I really appreciate the feedback. This is the _longest _chapter, but don't worry, you'll still find my dependable cliffy at the end :p

_The Truth-finally_

"What's up," he asked, still smiling.

Unwilling to let my nerves stop me now, I inhaled a breath before asking, "Why did you guys move here?"

He was taken off guard by the unpredictable question, but besides a quick tightening around his eyes, there was no indication that my question targeted something that was intended to be kept hidden.

He laughed a bit shakily before responding, "Nice to see you too, Chloe."

"Simon," I said, hoping he'd be able to pick up on my seriousness.

Apparently, he did for he ignored what could certainly be considered as odd behavior and answered my question. "Well, we were living in a small town in a really good area upstate. I'm talking people who should have been in a J. Crew catalogue or part of the Brady Bunch. My dad's in family law and where we were living, there was either no problems, or if there was, they weren't mentioned—you know, keeping the image intact and all that. So, when a job came up here—one that offered more potential—he took it without question. And none of us were upset to be moving either. Our blended family didn't exactly fit in the surreal mold of perfection." He shrugged and offered a quick smile, the only indication that he was nervous being that he was speaking slightly more quickly than usual.

"That's not what I'm talking about," I said quietly. Straightforward was the approach I was going for. There was no need to drag this out any longer than necessary.

As understanding dawned on him, he stiffened and I could see the gears turning in his mind. I only caught a glimpse of panic before he managed to regain control of his expression and all traces of emotion slipped away—something he must have picked up from Derek, I thought dryly.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he said definitively. The oldest line in the book and I wasn't about to fall for it.

"Simon, I _need _to know. Don't play dumb," I pleaded, hoping he could see just how badly I did, in fact, need to know—just how serious, how desperate, I was.

He regarded me evenly for what seemed like a long time, as if assessing if I could be entrusted with the severity of the story or whether or not I was prepared to hear it. I stuck my chin out and met his gaze head on, refusing to be intimidated out of gathering the information that would enable me to figure out the final piece of the puzzle. Finally, he sighed and looked away. Then, meeting my gaze, he asked, "Who told you?"

"My aunt. She's on the parent's board and was there during the hearing." If I wanted the truth, then I would also have to give him the same in return.

He nodded understandingly and, hesitating briefly, took my hand and led me off the stage and to the seats of the auditorium. I couldn't help but notice the difference between the feel of his hand and the feel of Derek's, which was so much warmer, so much more comfortable.

Taking seats beside each other, he turned to me, urgency clear in his eyes. "I know you're not one to gossip, Chloe. You don't seem like that type of person. But you have to understand that I need to ask you not to breathe a word of this to _anyone. _If the story became known by the wrong person…" he trailed off, looking panic-stricken. Continuing quickly, he added, "Well, you know how people are. The exaggeration, the gossip, it's terrible. And Derek doesn't deserve any of it," he finished earnestly.

"Of course," I said gravely. I knew this even before I had asked the question. There was a reason this story wasn't known and I didn't want Derek to end up being victimized. I didn't want him to have to walk around with more guilt, more shame, if people found out.

Sighing, he began, "Derek came to live with us when I was five. He had recently been placed in foster care and… well, there was obviously a reason he was there. My dad happened upon the case and met with Derek. He could see that in the right environment and under the right care, he'd be able to thrive. Not to mention that my dad was a sucker for him because he was like an adult packed into a four year olds body—a nice break from me."

He broke off with a faraway look in his eyes and threw a mischievous smile my way before continuing, "It took a while for Derek to adapt, I guess, and even when he had, he was still reserved, closed off in a way not many kids are. He regressed for a bit when Tori came along—we were ten and that's a whole other story—but again, he eventually got used to the new addition. But outside of us, of our little band of misfits as we like to call ourselves, Derek couldn't quite shake the apprehensiveness he felt around other people. He didn't—still doesn't—lack the social skills; he just didn't trust other people. I think he feels like they'll just end up letting him down, disappointing him or, even though he'd never admit this, like they wouldn't like what they'd see and end up just picking up and leaving, completely disregarding and devaluing him. So Derek was a quiet kid. Some teachers thought he was sullen, but others passed it off as reserve or shyness. But as Derek got older, his silence was taken as a refusal to integrate. He started being chalked up as difficult and arrogant. To make matters worse, we moved around a lot. If you haven't noticed, Tori and I are more social than Derek, so moving wasn't as big a deal to us. Yeah, it sucked, but we didn't have as much trouble adjusting, fitting in. Derek was actually the one who was unfazed by the moving, but because he stuck out, he always got the worst end of the deal. And then when puberty hit, if you can imagine, things got even harder for him. Derek was suddenly bigger than everyone. He liked sports and built muscle a lot more easily compared to the rest of us. He also didn't look his age; he looked a lot older. The only way you could tell he wasn't a man was the acne."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise and he chuckled. "I know, you never would've known. I see the looks he gets from girls now, but Mother Nature wasn't always so kind. It didn't last long—maybe six months—but it was just another thing that he got judged for. And whenever I tried to get involved, he brushed me off and told me to behave. That it was his fight, not mine, and that he was dealing with it the way he wanted to deal with it."

I was getting anxious, waiting in anticipation for the turn in the story, and I think Simon saw it for he quickly changed his tune and I could feel the shift in mood.

"Like I told you before, the last place we lived in basically could have been considered Stepford and we weren't exactly welcomed with open arms. I mean, Tori and I are siblings and half-Asian—which was already encroaching on their comfort level— but we don't look anything alike. And in tow was Derek, who you have to admit, looks pretty intimidating and dangerous when you first see him. He got the usual crap—people gossiping about him and macho guys harassing him probably because they _were_ intimidated. And while it was never bad for me, I still had to go through what could best be called as hazing. Anyways, I was eventually accepted by most of them. I personally didn't really care, but I like to get involved and that's kind of hard when half your grade shies away from you or doesn't like you because they don't know you. But, there were two guys who wouldn't even try getting to know me. They hated me because I was different and I got shoved and taunted whenever they saw me. But like I said, whatever. The opinion of two ignorant assholes didn't really mean much to me."

"Things were going okay and about two months into the semester, I was outside on the basket ball court after school, waiting for Derek to finish talking about something math related with our teacher. I was fooling around when the two guys—Mark and Chris—mosey on over. Mark was the real Neanderthal; Chris was more a loyal sidekick. They started talking to me and I was finally graced with the knowledge of why they didn't like me. Turned out that Mark's loser cousin got fired from some convenience store when a new owner—who happened to be Chinese—took over the store. I thought it was my duty to clear up the misconception and point out that shockingly, not only are all Asians not from China—I'm Korean, by the way— but we're also not all related. That's when the trouble started. Mark told Chris to go stand watch and next thing I knew, he was taking a swing at me. I held my own for a while, but he was bigger and eventually, he had me cornered. And then he pulled out a knife. And… I don't know. I knew he was going to use it and I guess I was trying to numb myself, prepare for the inevitable. But it never came. Next thing I knew, he was being thrown off me and Derek was standing in his place, looking angry and relieved. I grabbed him and started running, but he wouldn't move. He was looking at Mark on the ground. There was blood coming out of his head and you could see the gash even from our vantage point. He wasn't moving and you could tell something was definitely wrong. I called our dad and then the police; Derek couldn't. His eyes were fixated on Mark's unmoving frame. When the cops got there, they took one look at Derek and started giving him hell. They were about to handcuff him when our dad showed up. All unimportant details aside though, his head got cracked open and he was in a coma for a while. The brain damage was permanent and he's confined to a wheelchair now. He needs to be taken care of for the rest of his life." He said this rather dispassionately, pausing for a moment before continuing.

"The trial was pretty bad. Derek was acquitted because it was self-defense and there had been other incidences of Mark carrying a weapon and harassing people with it—assault with a deadly weapon. But the prosecution put up a fight, which made Derek feel worse than he already did—still does. They even went so far as to bring up his childhood, saying that not only had he learned violence, but that it ran in his blood. Thank God the judge was reasonable—he even sealed the files so they wouldn't show up on his record." He shot me a shuttered look, as if appraising me, and I didn't look away. Satisfied, he went on, "When the trial was done, dad decided that it would be best for us to move. Tori and I agreed wholeheartedly, but Derek was impassive at that point. He was different after the accident, carrying around all that guilt, but the trial seemed to solidify the changes. When we got here, we thought things would get better. It's a bigger school in a bigger district and people aren't as closed off. They don't have the mindset 'them against us.' But we got nothing from Derek. He got even quieter and seemed to grow into himself. He didn't talk to people and he would not join a sports team. He flat out refused and even got into an argument with dad about it. It was the first sign of life, an actual reaction, he had seen in him after so many months, so he let it go on a compromise, making Derek promise to be active on his own terms. But last year, dad got frustrated again. He was tired of Derek having to carry around all the guilt and anger—he said he hated seeing his child like that. So he sat him down and basically gave him the option to join a team or join a team. He thought that organized sports would help Derek release some tension. Of course, Derek stubbornly refused, but dad wouldn't back down and then he brought up counseling, which basically had Derek out of his chair and running to football tryouts. And that's that," he finished, shrugging his shoulders and simultaneously releasing tension.

I was taken aback, yes, but my original thoughts hadn't changed. I had initially thought that it had all been a terrible accident and I was right. The only thing that did change though, were my feelings towards Derek. I realized he could no longer be considered a puzzle; he didn't deserve that. He was so much more. And, if possible, I felt even sadder for him than I had when my aunt had alluded to the story. My heart hurt for him, but I didn't know what I could do. I was completely helpless and it was a terrible feeling. He didn't deserve all the guilt he was carrying around and I wanted to pummel into his head that it wasn't his fault, but it was Derek and I knew that no matter what I said—what anybody said—he would believe what he thought was right. And in this case, it was himself who he thought just. It was terribly cliché and made me want to roll my eyes and slap myself, but I wanted to take the hurt away.

Interrupting my reverie, Simon asked, "Why did you want to know?"

"I was loosely aware of the accident and I started to notice that Derek would sometimes start to act differently, like he was trying to pull away. And he's avoiding me now, so I felt like I needed the whole story—the truth—to be able to justify his behavior."

Simon chuckled lightly, almost as if to himself, and shook his head. I started at him in incredulity and when he caught my look, he sobered up and said, "It's just kind of ironic, I guess. We've been at this school for almost three years now. It's the longest we've been anywhere and we've all really gotten the chance to settle, except Derek. Whether it's because he won't or he can't, I don't really know. You have to remember, he got used to being judged before he even opened his mouth. And even though the files are sealed, all the teachers and the parent's board had to be notified of what had happened. You should see the way some of the teachers treat him, like they're afraid of him or like he's unworthy of their good opinion. The only decent one is Mr. Williams. And the rumor mill was worse for him, too, because he's more noticeable. So Derek's kind of developed the mentality 'if they're not going to give me a chance, why should I give them one?' But recently, dad and I, and even Tori, have noticed a change. And I think it's because of you, Chloe. You're the first person in _years_ to have looked past what you saw and gotten to know Derek without having judged him. You gave him a chance and you have to understand how much that can mean for a person. A couple of weeks ago, I caught him smiling to himself and I almost had a heart attack. I'm not saying he's never happy; he just hasn't seemed so at ease in a while."

Confused, I asked, "Then why is he ignoring me. Why does he insist on pulling away?"

"I think he's afraid of hurting you. Or that, if you found out about what happened, you wouldn't want to be around him anymore," he said quietly.

My brain suddenly went into overload trying to process all the newly acquired information and my mind was reeling. Simon chuckled sardonically. "I know. And I thought women were complicated."

I laughed a bit shakily before silence befell us. My thoughts unsurprisingly and, as I found they now so frequently did, returned to Derek. And thinking of him made me think of so much else. I was mad at how unjust the world had been to him; saddened by what it had made him feel; and frustrated by his complex way of feeling and reasoning. Simon's voice broke through the turmoil as he asked, quietly, "You don't think of him any differently, do you?" While his question still held a bit of fear for the worst, it was still asked with certainty, as if it weren't a question at all, but more of a confirmation to something he already suspected.

"No," I answered honestly. And it was true. Derek, if not more clear, was still Derek to me. Haunted, brooding, smart, handsome Derek.

Simon smiled the smile that epitomized him—carefree, boyish and joyful. Getting up to go, he turned to me, "You know, I think you're just what Derek needs."

Perplexed, I didn't have time to respond before he left me alone in the auditorium. Leaning back, I let my mind mull over everything I had found out. I realized a bit dreadfully that I would somehow have to tell Derek that I knew. It seemed deceitful to keep it from him, and I wasn't about to take a step in the wrong direction, especially considering I now thought that I had a chance of getting somewhere with him. For the moment, I pushed away the little voice in my mind that corrected me, reminded me that I didn't want to get somewhere with him rather than be _something _with him, and chose instead to focus on the present.

* * *

Call it a bad feeling, or a sixth sense, or even not being completely and blatantly ignorant of social subtleties, but when Derek walked into English on Monday morning and took a seat as far away from me as possible, pointedly ignoring me, I knew something was wrong. As soon as the bell rang, he was out of his seat and out the door and I didn't see him for the rest of the day, which was odd since I had continued to see him everywhere. By the end of the day, sitting in math, I was a nervous wreck. He was mad at me, that much I had gathered. It was _what _he was mad about that I consciously shied away from contemplating. Class passed by in a blur and if you put a gun to my head, I would not be able to reiterate a single thing Mr. Williams had said. When the bell rang, I jumped, startled out of my thoughts, and was making my way towards the door when he called me back.

"Chloe," he said a bit sadly, "Mr. Souza informed me earlier today of the unfortunate change in scheduling with his practices and how they now conflict with your schedule. He also told me that the changes were for an indefinite amount of time. Now, I know this is a setback, but I think we can work something out. There's only a month left until the Christmas break, and although we don't have winter exams, there is still going to be a test that counts for ten percent of your mark. I think the best thing would be for us to start working together again. You can tell me what Derek did with you and we'll try to develop a new method from there. I know it may not sound as appealing, but it's what needs to be done if we're going to get you to where I know you can be," he finished with a smile and an attempt at optimism.

I nodded and I may have said something, but I can't be completely sure. Mind reeling, I made my way out of the classroom, trying to breathe normally and make sense of everything. I had not been informed of this so called 'change in schedule.' And the only thing I could think was that it was a lie. It was such an unconcealed lie, too, and while I had no proof, I knew it was. Simon had told him that I knew and though I was unsurprised, considering they were brothers, I couldn't help but feel a little betrayed. And now Derek was mad at me. I didn't even know if mad was a strong enough word. He had gone as far as to cut me out of his life without a moment's notice. He was gone with the blink of an eye, and that felt unsettlingly familiar— familiar in a way I tried to ignore. Irrational as it was, tears threatened to fall and I fought with all my might against them. I would _not _cry. He wasn't allowed to do that to me.

Walking into drama, I apparently didn't look as self-possessed as I had thought, for Simon, after seeing me, rushed over to my side.

"What'd he do," he asked somewhat reluctantly.

Ignoring him, I asked instead, "You _told_ him?"

He looked desperate and pleaded, "He's my brother. And I felt guilty. And," he said with emphasis, "when I got home, he wanted to know why I was home later than usual and I _could not—_would not—lie to him."

I sighed and grudgingly nodded in understanding.

"Now, what did he do?"

I quickly summarized and Simon muttered an oath under his breath.

"He's just upset. And he feels betrayed. Derek kind of has a list of hits and misses and once you're off, you're off. It's extreme, I know, but it's Derek."

Seeing my panicked—heartbroken—expression, he added quickly, "But I think it's different with you. He cares about you, Chloe, and he was just taken off guard. Give him a couple of days and go from there. He doesn't want you out of his life, whether he'll admit it or not." He patted me on the arm reassuringly and turned away, leaving me alone with the possibility of having ruined what I had with Derek forever.

* * *

Walking into Aunt Lauren's house, I felt exhausted and wanted to curl up and sleep forever, permanently forgetting numbers.

Needless to say, Simon's words were unhelpful, for a couple of days had soon turned into a couple of weeks. My math marks were slowly but steadily getting back down to where they had started, but I couldn't help it. Math was now like the Russian winter to the German army, peanuts to a person with an anaphylactic allergy to said protein substitute. Mr. Williams tried his best, but I didn't understand his approach. He was no Derek, which was probably also a factor in my plummeting mark. During my hour with Williams, my thoughts regularly went to Derek and not to math. And Derek—Derek didn't acknowledge me. He acted as if I didn't exist, which hurt, while he seemed to be occupying a good deal of my thoughts. And while it was admittedly pathetic, it was also slightly therapeutic. The more I thought about him and what had happened, the more the sadness was replaced with anger. Who was _he _to decide the rules of our relationship? Where did he get off? One fight—it wasn't even a fight, I reminded myself, for there was no talking involved—and suddenly all we had meant nothing. And we _did_ have something. Even though it hadn't been acknowledged and not properly tuned to, there was something between Derek and I, and I had decided that I wasn't going to forget about it, give it up without a fight. Unfortunately, my bark was worse than my bite and I had yet to act on my feelings.

Trudging up the stairs, I heard Aunt Lauren's voice calling, beckoning me into the living room. Swallowing a sigh, I turned around and went to meet my fate, knowing _exactly_ what she wanted to discuss.

She was sitting on the big chair, back straight and looking authoritative and disappointed. She motioned for me to take a seat next to her and I obliged.

Turning towards me, she said, "I assume you know what this is about."

"Yes," I said, looking down.

"A sixty, Chloe," she asked sighing, referring to my most recent math test. "What's going on? Things were going so well."

"Derek can't tutor me anymore and Mr. Williams had to take his place. I'm really trying to understand, but I'm tired with break so close and it's been hard trying to readapt to his methods," I explained, hoping it sounded like a valid reason. It sounded better than, 'I can't stop thinking about my former sexy, brooding tutor who is now hell bent on ignoring me simply because I was curious, so forgive me if math seems slightly unimportant.' At least I thought it did.

Her eyes softened and empathetically, she reached over to pat me on the knee. "I know you're tired hun, but this is it. Just think of it as the final hurtle before you have two weeks of pure, relaxing bliss. I know you're trying and I know this isn't what you want to hear, but you just need to try a little harder. I know you can do it. Besides, you're better off without having to spend time with that boy," she finished with a contemptuous tone.

Taken aback, I shifted so her hand no longer rested on my knee. She was an adult—a pseudo-parent—and yet she was sitting here and judging Derek? If I knew better, surely should she. Her words provoked an unexpected reaction, too, making the frustration that had been slowly building itself up suddenly bubble up over the surface.

"What do you mean by 'that boy'? His name is Derek."

"Chloe," she said reproachfully. "I told you the story. You know what he did."

"Yes, I do. But he didn't do it on purpose and you're making it sound like he did. It was an accident Aunt Lauren, a terrible accident. Do you even know how it happened or why?"

She was looking at me as if she didn't know who I was and remained silent. Using it to my advantage, I continued, "Derek was protecting his brother, who had been cornered by a guy with a knife. If that's not a good enough reason, then I don't know what is. At the time, Derek's sole concern was saving Simon. He didn't mean to hurt anybody, it just happened. And he shouldn't be condemned for the rest of his life for something that was beyond his control," I said, voice strong and unwavering. She looked as appropriately chastised as anyone whose seventeen year old niece had put them in their place. I don't think she knew what to say or how to react, and too frustrated to say much else or act repentant, I spun and left her alone to think about what I had offered her.

If I had been a more dramatic person, I would have slammed my door, but alas, I wasn't and settled on shutting it more forcefully than usual. Standing in the middle of my room, angry at Derek and angry at anybody and everybody who made him feel the way he did, I decided that if I was willing to fight _for _him, I was fully capable of manning up and risk fighting _with _him. And I was fully intent on making good on my promise. Feeling as if things were starting to look up, I mentally started to prepare myself for what I knew I had to do.

* * *

As teenagers excitedly filtered out around me, anxious for the one hour of freedom lunch provided them, I ignored them all, striding purposefully towards the library. I had figured out long ago where Derek petulantly spent his lunch hours and I was about to gladly interrupt his hour of brooding—I didn't know if he brooded—he probably read—but thinking of him brooding better contributed to keeping my stamina and gusto intact. I pulled open the doors and went straight for the area where the study rooms were. Yes, Derek liked to be _that _isolated. Peeking in through the first window, I saw him bent over a book and decided taking him off guard would be the best way to approach things. For once thankful of my tiny stature, I slipped through the slightly opened door and took a moment to glare daggers at his head before I shut the door with a solid thud. He looked up, clearly taken off guard. But when he registered it as me standing in front of him, the surprise fell away as dozens of emotions quickly flitted across his face. The most dominant and reoccurring was anger, though I caught betrayal and disappointment. All understandable, but that didn't change the fact that it was now my purpose to beat my points into that stubborn head of his and force him to talk to me.

Trying for that infuriating indifference of his, he apparently felt too strongly and settled on anger, glaring right back at me. If he had been a dog, he'd probably be growling, but I wasn't intimidated.

_Bring it on, _I thought, hoping that it was clear in my expression. I was ready for whatever he would throw my way.

**Happy Holidays! Make an author happy-R&R :)**


	13. Chapter 13

A December 27th post, woohoo! (That probably sounded as bad to you as it did to me, but I tried). I hope, for those who celebrate, that whichever festivity was generous to you and for those who don't, I hope you're getting a well deserved break. Another thank you to all readers and reviews-you guys were undoubtedly on the nice list due to your amazing ways.

A special thank you to Alasyn who managed to integrate and organize two unfinished pieces into one seamless one. This chapter would have been long overdue without her.

_Confrontation_

The room felt charged; the tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. He was looking at me like I was the last person on earth he'd want to be stuck in a room with, but stuck he was—I was standing between him and the only exit, arms crossed and set on staying rooted in place. The harder he glared at me with his green angry eyes, the more determined I became, chin sticking out defiantly to convey that I was not scared of him, that I would not back down.

Although it would probably be possible to have a stare off with him for God only knows how long, I needed to get things moving. Opening my mouth, he either thought the same thing or childishly wanted to beat me to it, for he did just that- beat me to the punch.

"What do you want," he asked, lip curled.

"The silent treatment's getting a little old, Derek," I said, eyes narrowed.

He pushed himself away from the table tensely; hands holding onto the edge so tightly his knuckles were white.

"Is there a reason you've cornered me," he snapped, voice low and harsh.

Ignoring the urge to retort something that would probably be immature, I said harshly, "I want to know why the _hell_ I've become nonexistent to you, why you started to ignore me." The answer was obvious, I knew, but I also needed a way to broach the topic and get conversation moving.

He laughed humorlessly and, using an acidic tone, said, "Chloe, I know you're terrible at math, but you're not a dumb blonde. I think you can figure it out all by yourself." His tone was thick and condescending, making me feel two feet tall. However, I was _not _going to let him get to me. I wasn't going to let him control this conversation.

Throwing my hands up in the hair, I moved away from the door and closer to him. "What is it about me knowing the truth about what happened that made you so mad, Derek," I asked exasperatedly.

I could see what remained of his self-possession crumble to pieces and he stood up, pushing out of his chair with such force that it knocked into the wall with a definable thud. He was holding himself rigidly and it seemed that the table was the only thing keeping us from standing toe to toe.

"That is the _stupidest _question I've ever heard. How can you ask me why I'm mad, Chloe? How could I _not _be angry? You went _behind my back_—to my _brother_ of all people—to find out about something that was purposefully kept hidden, that I didn't want you to know." By the end, he was closer and his voice was louder, yet my concentration kept me from caring whether or not anyone had heard. The outside world was just that at this point—outside. As it seemed to happen so often, Derek and I were enclosed in a world separate from everyone else's.

"Well I _do_ know, so there's really nothing to be done about that."

A fresh round of anger flared up in his eyes, but I forged on, ignoring him for once, "And honestly, Derek, what else was I supposed to do? I knew about it vaguely and the more I got to know you, the more the quirks in your behavior became evident. Whenever something serious happened, something that threatened to bring us closer, you immediately backed off, pulled away. I thought the accident must have had some merit in an explanation and it wasn't as if I could have asked you," I said, trying to keep the accusation in my voice to a minimum.

"That's not true. You could have asked me," he said with conviction. But Derek was a master of secrecy and I knew better.

"That's a lie and you know it. Are you saying I could have asked you and you would have told me without qualms, no questions asked?" I snorted, "We both know that wouldn't be how it would have gone. You either would have gotten mad and dismissed me—just like you're doing now—or you would have told me but left out important details that would completely change the tone of the story."

"And what important details are you talking about, Chloe, since you apparently are more knowledgeable about what happened than I am," he asked acerbically, voice deadly low.

"You think it's your fault. And that feeling would have transferred into the telling of what happened," I said with certainty.

For a moment, he looked so conflicted that I was taken off guard, for usually he was so assertive, so certain of himself. He looked ashamed and guilty, but I could also see hate in the depth of his eyes. I didn't know whether it was self-hatred or hatred towards me, for both seemed plausible. Self-hatred was self-explanatory and the hatred towards me could also be easily explained. Here I was, a bystander, telling him how he felt, trying to give my two cents about what had happened. To anyone, it would seem as if I were judging him. But I wasn't. I just needed to get my point across.

"It was my fault." The heartbreaking thing was that he believed what he was saying. He truly believed it. So many people had thought it, had told him so, that he didn't have a choice in thinking otherwise. Which was sad—so, so sad—because it was so untrue.

"No, it wasn't," I said quietly. "It was an accident, a terrible accident, but an accident nonetheless."

"You weren't there." It sounded as if he were trying to prove me wrong, as if he possessed the guilty mentality for so long, he didn't know what to do it without it.

"Did you mean to hurt him," I asked directly.

"No," he said quickly, strongly.

"You just contradicted yourself."

"Just because I didn't intend on hurting him doesn't change the fact that _I _did and that it's still _my_ fault," he said, voice hard and ringing with a note of finality.

"You're impossible," I muttered.

"And you betrayed me," he countered, having heard me. Ignoring my readied protest, he continued, "Is there a reason you're here besides wanting to discuss something Simon already told you all about," he asked angrily, though I could detect the betrayal beneath the surface.

"Derek, I know you think that I went behind your back and discussed your personal matters with Simon, but that's not how it is. I _needed _to know what happened and Simon was the one person I could go to who would give me the unabridged, unbiased version. I was _going_ to tell you," I added truthfully, hoping, however blindly, that he would be reasonable enough to pick up on my sincerity.

"I can't trust you anymore," he said simply, making it clear that he was ready for this conversation to come to an end, even though I most definitely was not.

"Well then, I can't trust you."

His momentary cool façade shattered and he came even closer to me, though I stood my ground.

"You're ridiculous. How is it that you've turned this around and suddenly, I'm the untrustworthy one? I've done _nothing_ to justify that."

Stepping closer, I narrowed my eyes up at him, all the while hoping that my argument would be strong enough. "I can't depend on you. I can't trust you to always be—to be accountable." I had intended to say 'be there for me,' but I was no longer certain of that being a feasible option.

"Are you calling me unreliable?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Please," he said, voice dripping with sarcasm, "enlighten me."

"What happened between Friday night's game and Monday, when you started avoiding me, which wasn't the first instance of you doing so? Friday night…" I trailed off because there was no proper way to explain the meaning behind what had happened. After the slight slip up, I continued, attempting to reinstate the strength in my voice, "was Friday night. And Monday, I no longer existed."

He blanched and visibly had nothing to say, no explanation to offer. Using his silence to my advantage, I went on, "And now, because of one mistake, because, according to your twisted standards, I've put one foot out of line, we're not friends anymore. You completely cut me out of your life without any warning."

He was intent on cutting in, but a new wave of anger and hurt hit and I wasn't going to let him deter me. "And the way you did it too. Honestly, Derek, I thought at least you had a little more integrity than that. But apparently, I was wrong."

The argument suddenly took a different turn. Hurt was rapidly overpowering my anger. I felt raw and exhausted, emotionally wrecked. I was waging an internal battle between giving into the urge of caving or remaining proud. What I wanted to know was if I had screwed up enough to erase any feelings he may have had towards me—if he had ever had them. But I also needed him to know that he couldn't treat me how he had been treating me.

Sighing, I looked away from him and squeezed my eyes tightly shut for a moment, erasing it all with a thorough rub of my temples. Taking a deep breath, I looked back at him and said, "If you—if you hate me, if you're not able to forgive me, fine. I _am _sorry that you found out the way you did, that I had to find out the way I did, but there was no other way. I screwed up, but forgive me for having believed that I shouldn't be condemned for it. Just know that you're not allowed to do this though, Derek. You're not allowed to be the one who controls the relationship, who can adjust it to his every mood. That's not how it works—not with friends. But if we're not friends anymore, then at least I know I tried."

Turning away, I made my way to the door. I was upset—the thought of him hating me creating impressive mental turmoil— but if Derek had taught me anything, it was self-possession and I wouldn't let him know I was desperately trying to control my breathing. Walking out, any shred of hope that he would stop me vanished as the only thing that I could feel following me were his eyes, boring into my back.

Pushing the heavy library doors out of the way, I was greeted by a somewhat ominous silence. The library was in a secluded part of the school—the older section that remained intact after renovations—and it surprisingly was not the most popular hangout—note the sarcasm.

I was walking quickly, futilely hoping that if I felt I had a purpose, a destination, I would manage not to cry. Sadly, I was disillusioning myself for the tears came regardless. Swiping away at them angrily, I was too preoccupied to notice that someone was walking directly in my path, only realizing it when I bumped into them and barely saved myself from falling to the floor.

Looking up, I saw none other than Liam, the big brute of a wall, leering down at me.

"Nice to see you again, Chloe," he said smiling. There was no other way to describe his voice other than predatorily. His tone held light amusement and his eyes were entirely too focused on me, as if to assure that I wouldn't get away.

As my mind flipped through ideas of how to extract myself from the situation as swiftly as possible, he registered my tear-stained face and instead of even attempting mock concern, he seemingly grew more amused.

He tsked and then asked, "Now what reason would such a pretty girl have to be cryin'?" His slight southern drawl made him sound even more instinctual and even less human. It significantly amped up the cautionary waves that seemed to roll of him.

"Is that boyfriend of yours givin' you trouble?"

Not thinking, I said, half bitterly, half sorrowfully, "Derek's not my boyfriend."

Smiling wide, flashing strikingly large canines, he said, "All the better for me." He reached out towards me and I took a regrettably shaky step back. Liam was the last thing I could handle in my current state—I wasn't even sure if could.

"I'd never give you any trouble pretty girl," he murmured, stepping closer.

"Listen Li—" I was cut off by the menacing sound of the library doors thumping shut. Time seemed to stop as the sound rang through the too-silent hallway. Turning our heads simultaneously, we saw Derek holding himself stiffly, giving Liam the darkest look I had ever seen.

Barking out a resonating laugh, Liam bent his head close to mine and whispered, "He may not be your boyfriend anymore, but make sure he knows that. Then come and find me."

He straightened, threw a wink and a "Seeya later, cutie" my way, and flashed Derek a mocking smile before walking away and turning down an adjacent corridor. If looks could kill, Liam would have dropped dead at my feet ages ago judging from the daggers my supposed significant other had been unceasingly shooting his way.

Derek's eyes snapped to mine and while the white hot anger was still there, it began to share space with relief and visible fear. But I was still too upset, too confused and exhausted, to adapt to what Derek was feeling now, to decipher the meaning behind the look he was giving me. So, as cowardly as it was, I turned away and ran down the hallway, for once being the one who decided where we stood.

**R&R please :)**


	14. Chapter 14

Marvelous, wonderful, incredible, prodigious. If you're reading or reviewing or doing both, those are only a few words-all synonmous with amazing-to describe you. Thanks for reading :)

_Showdown_

"So, are you going to the dance," Simon asked, wagging his eyebrows in my direction as we stood side by side, painting a tree, referring to the annual Christmas dance.

"The more appropriate question would be whether I want to go to the dance," I said glumly. Mila and Amber, either in an attempt to improve my dark mood or tired of my chronic sullenness, cornered me after school on Friday and did no less than threaten me into going with them. And Aunt Lauren wasn't any help either; when I shared my complaints with her, as opposed to reacting like a normal guardian who was aware that their child was failing math and therefore forbidding them to attend, she thought getting out would "be good fore me," and strongly suggested—forced—that I go.

He chuckled and threw me a sympathetic look.

"Derek's going to be there—dad's forcing him out of the house," he said hesitantly, though watching me keenly, as if he weren't sure how I would react to this information but was also intensely curious about my reaction.

I was surprised, the thought of Derek attending any form of social outing slightly shocking, and also intrigued. Why would his dad be forcing him out of the house? But my curiosity was reserved solely for me, to be shared with no one. For while, to the outside world, it seemed like I had forgotten Derek—which was my objective—that was anything but true in my world. I had confronted him on Tuesday, and now, exactly a week later, nothing had happened. Derek hadn't approached me and I was determined to forget about him. If he was intent on being thickheaded and resolute on staying angry, then I couldn't do anything about it and shouldn't waste any more time consumed by thoughts of him. But Derek was a hard person to forget, to not notice, and what made it all the more difficult was the fact that he had resumed looking at me. The only difference was that the emotion in his eyes was evident every time, and even when I caught him and glared back angrily, he stubbornly held my gaze for a few moments, expression unchanging, as if he wanted me to be aware of what he was feeling and, because his eyes were so expressive, what he was thinking. Sometimes I saw anger, other times worry. But there was also regret and longing. The longing made ignoring him and remaining angry the hardest, if only because I felt it too, but I managed. If Derek was sorry, or even if he just wanted to counter any of my arguments, then he would have to come and talk to me. I would not be the one crawling back. Not this time. The repent I saw was as satisfying as it was endearing; I was glad he was sorry—for he _should _be sorry—but he also looked like a sad, puppy, which, as an expression on Derek, was absolutely priceless.

"That's nice," I said off-handedly, not looking at him and continuing to aimlessly sweep my brush up and down.

He snorted in derisiveness, "Yeah right, Chloe. I bet that information means a lot more to you than you're letting on. But whatever, hold on to your pride. I'll save you the trouble of having to sacrifice it by being nice enough to tell you what you're probably dying to know."

"I didn't know you were a mind-reader," I said, mouth agape in fake shock. "Who needs biology when you already have access to a stable career," I asked teasingly, taking a jab at the scientific trouble he had that he frequently grumbled about.

"Wit won't get you what you want," he said reproachfully, though with amusement in his eyes.

I rolled my eyes and went back to my painting, trying in vein to reign in my now morbid curiosity. Taking a peek at him, he caught me and smiled. Looking rather smug, he said, "Our dad is forcing Derek out of the house because he's been in a black mood for the past week. Ever since you found out, he's been in a bad mood—snappy, irritable and a bit withdrawn. But ever since last Tuesday…" he trailed off, thoughts clearly somewhere else. Resuming, he finished, "Well, let's just say woe to the poor soul in Derek's wrath. Dad thinks that going out will be good for him."

I couldn't help but smile at the irony and when I shared it with Simon, he smiled, too.

"Seriously though, what happened," he asked, regaining a staid demeanor.

"We had a fight," I said vaguely.

"Chloe," he said, sounding disappointed. "I may be hopelessly failing biology, but I'm not that dense. What was the fight _about_?"

Sighing, I said, "A lot of things."

"Sometimes, Derek is, well he's Derek. He's stubbornly dense," he said, hoping to instill understanding. But I already understood. That wasn't the problem. The problem was that I was at a standstill; unable to let go when it seemed that was the only suitable thing to do.

I nodded gravely and wanting to change the topic, asked, "So which girl is it this week? Who's the lucky one who's being taken to the dance?"

Over the course of our drama classes together, Simon and I had grown fairly close. We weren't best friends and didn't really talk outside of class, but we acknowledged each other in the halls and whenever we did talk, conversation came easily. He was almost like the big brother I never had. We talked about a lot, nothing too important, though he recurrently shared, as he liked to call them, his "women problems" with me and I enjoyed teasing him about it.

"Actually," he said, throwing me a sly look, "I was wondering if you knew if your friend Mila was going with anybody?"

Laughing, I happily talked strategy with Simon, thoughts of Derek not forgotten, but no longer at the forefront of my mind.

* * *

Putting my things in my bag at the end of the day, I couldn't help but feel a slight sense of dread. I was going dress shopping with Mila and Amber. On a good day, I didn't enjoy shopping. The crowded mall, pushy salespeople and abundance of variety were overwhelming. But on a day like today—make that a week—shopping was the last thing I wanted to do, especially considering I didn't even want to attend the event I was shopping for. But together, Mila and Amber are tough to dissuade and I was too tired to try. Straightening, I saw Nate standing in front of me and taken off guard, I jumped.

He smiled at my skittishness, but I picked up on a nervous edge that seemed to tinge his movements. His hand was moving restlessly at his side, almost as if he were trying to calm himself.

"Hi," I said quizzically, wondering why he had yet to speak.

"Hey, Chloe," he said, putting his hands in his pocket and leaning against a locker in an effort to look at ease.

He continued to look at me, so, trying to mask my impatience, I asked politely, "Was there something you wanted?"

Starting back to reality he began speaking—slightly erratically—finishing sentences before he even began and fumbling over his words.

Feigning concentration on what he was saying, I let my eyes wander down the hall, hoping to see either Mila or Amber and somehow signal that I needed an escape. I had a wary feeling about where this was going and I wanted to stop it before I got a chance to find out if I had a right to be. However, my eyes did not find them; they found Derek, leaning against his own locker a few feet away, body turned towards Nate and me. For once though, he wasn't looking at me. He was glaring at Nate and looked—well not murderous, but close to it. He looked as if Nate was an unpleasant bug and if he could, he'd flick him away. Or maybe, measuring by the intensity of the glare, crush him to his demise.

Perplexed, I returned my attention to Nate, who was just now getting around to his point.

"…wondering if you would go to the dance with me," he asked, his words coming out in a tangled rush.

I cringed internally. _That _was what I was afraid of.

Quietly sighing, I took a good look at Nate. Medium brown, slightly disheveled hair, soft brown eyes and lashed so long they made girls jealous. He was taller than me—then again, everyone's taller than me—maybe five six, and lean, bordering on lanky. Sweet, smart and shy, he had good intentions. My eyes flicked treacherously to Derek, still glaring at Nate, before they returned to the hopeful boy standing in front of me. For a spiteful moment, I wanted to say yes. But it was fleeting, and I could never go through with it, never live with the guilt of having led him on. I liked Nate, just not that way. While he would make some other girl's heart flutter, I couldn't help but note that his hair wasn't dark, almost black; he didn't have intense, expressive green eyes; and his stature didn't make me feel as if I had the protection of fort Knox.

"Nate," I said gently, "I would go with you, but not under the same terms as I think you want. You're really sweet, but—"

"I don't know if I want you to finish that sentence." While he sounded disappointed, he sounded oddly resigned, as if he had—finally—accepted the truth of the matter.

"I'm sorry," I said, hating that I had to dissatisfy him.

"It's okay, Chloe," he said, smiling faintly. "I guess I'll just see you there then?"

I nodded but couldn't help but say, "I hope we can still be friends?" It ended up turning into a question I was so unsure I should be asking.

"Obviously. We _are _writing a play together, after all," he said, trying for levity.

I smiled gratefully and as I watched his retreating figure, my eyes once again, as if it were an ingrained habit, found Derek, who was now looking at me, wearing an expression of curiosity and intense relief.

* * *

Sitting at a table flanking the dance floor, I laid my head upon my hand, bored and grudgingly dejected. While Simon and Mila were smitten and slow dancing closely and Amber and Nate—who I found out quickly rebounded from my rebuff—were doing the same, I watched, sickened. The whole scene epitomized those terrible high school movies where everyone comes together at the final dance, mirrored it so closely, I wanted to close my eyes against it all, the movie maker in me cringing in fear.

There was also the fact that Derek was nowhere to be seen. Simon and Tori were here, but their brother could not be found. Simon had assured me repeatedly when I got here that Derek was coming, but later. He hadn't wanted to ride with Simon and Mila and said he'd wait for his dad to get home so he could catch a ride. Simon had even gone as far as to tell me that Derek had _promised _to come.

I lost hope after an hour and he still hadn't shown up. After another half hour, I started to wallow. And now, now I was mad. But not at Derek. At myself.

I had allowed myself to be dragged here because I hoped he would be here too and we could patch things up, maybe even take a step towards something else. I had stupidly bought a dress I would never wear again because I foolishly thought it made me look pretty and naively thought Derek would think I looked nice. And every time I got up to leave, I decided against it, choosing to wait another five minutes, just in case. I had unknowingly turned into one of _those _girls—those girls who wait around for the boy to notice them, who bend to said boy's every whim just because she likes him _so _much.

But I couldn't do it anymore. This somehow seemed like the last straw, the final push I needed to realize that, if he couldn't be bothered to show up, regardless of what his eyes conveyed, then he truly must not care.

Standing up, I grabbed my keys off the table and sent a text to Mila, telling her I was leaving and not to worry.

Walking away, leaving the music and happy couples behind, my hand absently ran along the dress regretfully; it really was beautiful and now it would remain in my closet, a reminder of what didn't happen.

It was a deep, forest green and it was velvet—very popular this season, the saleswoman had told me. Long sleeved, the front was a sweetheart neckline and there was boning in the torso, creating a nice effect before it flared out and cut at mid-thigh, to "balance out the long sleeves"—again, wise words of the pushy saleswoman. But it was soft and I loved the color and it made me feel somewhat enchanted. Polishing it off were my trusted white converse—I refused to renounce comfort for deathly style, in other words, heels.

Walking out into the frigid air, I strode purposefully to my car in the gravel parking lot, cursing myself for not bringing a jacket. I tried to push away the anxiety I felt towards what I thought was an eerie silence.

The music coming from the gym could still be heard, but as it seems to in the winter months, things appeared frozen and cold, almost like the weather was blocking everything out and making it seem farther away than it actually was. Noting the clouds each breath was forming in the air, I told myself I was being paranoid; too many encounters with Liam—who I hadn't even seen tonight—had gotten me anxious and wary of going anywhere alone at night. As my car came into view, I thought that if Derek and I were still on speaking terms, he'd be happy about me taking my car and not walking, airing on the side of ridiculous caution. I couldn't wait to get home, put on my sweats and curl up in front of my laptop to watch _Psycho_—morbid, I know, but it's also a great movie.

Opening my door, I was about to get in when a hand appeared beside my head, firmly shutting it. I jumped, heart slamming against my ribs and heard a dark chuckle from behind me. It felt as if a lead weight had dropped in my stomach and I stopped breathing for a moment, ceased with fear.

This was it. My streak of luck had ended. There was virtually no one around and Derek wasn't around to save me this time. And everyone else was inside the gym, deafened by the music and enthralled by their company, too focused on frivolity to hear any desperate cries for help. My heart was beating so loudly it seemed to be the only thing I could hear, so I was surprised when I managed to catch his murmured words.

"I can't believe you were goin' to leave without sayin' goodbye, pretty girl." His body had been close to mine, like an oppressive weight I could feel closing in on me, and when he spoke, his lips brushed my ear, inducing a shiver I couldn't control.

Another sadistic chuckle escaped his lips and I tired to take a deep breath and organize my reeling thoughts in an attempt to strategize. Turning around, I tried to prepare myself for the possibilities of what could come of this altercation and I desperately prayed that I had someone watching over me.

**Someone pointed out to me-coughSammicough-tha the last chapter did not end in a cliffhanger. I apologize and I thought I should make up for it. R&R please :)**


	15. Chapter 15

If anyone can come up with a new word to describe the amazing readers and reviewers, let me know. Thank you to Alasyn for some helpful advice :)

_Stripped_

Glaring up at him with as much hostility as I could muster, he smiled as he brought up his other hand to the side of my head, thoroughly encaging me within the circle of him arms.

He leered down at me and said, "That's why I like you, Chloe. You seem so frail and innocent and sweet on the outside. But you're steely. It's so…enticin'."

"Have you ever heard of personal space," I snapped, trying to wriggle free of the barrier he formed around me. His big hand came down and he placed it firmly on my abdomen, pushing me against the car and preventing any further squirming,

"Chloe," he said reprimandingly, "you've been playin' cat and mouse with me for too long. And I'm gettin' tired of it."

His tone acquired a hard edge that made me look more carefully into his eyes and for a moment, his mask slipped away again, revealing the true danger that lay beneath.

I needed to take control of this situation _now,_ before things got any more precarious. Opening my mouth, he shushed me by placing his other hand over my it, which really had my heart racing. He had another thing coming if he thought I'd be submissive. There was _no way_ on God's green earth that I was giving up without a fight. It was what would come after my resistance that worried me.

The gym was a sizeable distance away and, sizing Liam up—though, in reality, it was an unnecessary measure—I knew I couldn't outrun him. He was undoubtedly stronger than me and I didn't think he'd take too kindly to me attempting to escape. He had a temper, a need for dominance, and it was what he would want to do with me _afterwards_ that had my heart beating a mile a minute, pumping blood so quickly I would have sworn I could hear it rushing in my ears.

"You see," he continued, "ever since I've laid eyes on you, I knew I wanted you. But you've kept your distance and that hulking brute of a boyfriend of yours has always gotten in the way. I don't see him around though, so there's nothin' stopping us from havin' a little fun, from finally gettin' my way, cause you see, Chloe, I always get my way." His voice was dangerously low and surprisingly controlled, all indication of his southern accent all but disappearing in the concentration he gave to telling this to me.

Focusing on all the hate I felt towards him, I took what breath I could and brought my leg up, kicking him hard in the stomach and utterly taking him off guard. His grip on me loosened significantly, allowing me to pull away and flee from his hold.

And then I ran. I ran and didn't look back.

I concentrated on keeping my footing and pumping my legs as fast as they would physically go. I didn't know whether it was fear or adrenaline pushing me, but whatever it was, I was thankful. Just as I began to hope that I had lost him, I heard him approaching, gaining speed and distance with every passing second. Without warning, I was jerked back so roughly by my arm that I was thrown onto the ground, cheek and back scraping painfully along the gravel.

Liam was standing over me, holding a position of complete control, and as I squirmed and tried desperately to ingratiate myself into the ground, he began to descend upon me. He grabbed both my wrists with one hand and pinned them above my head and strategically placed his knee on my thigh, effectively thwarting all movement on my part.

With a cruel glint in his eye, he said breathily, "You're a feisty one. We're goin' to have fun with that."

The feeling of fear that ceased me was almost indescribable.

I felt helpless and exposed and there was literally nothing I could do about it. I was rendered incapacitated and no one was around to save me, to hear what I wouldn't doubt to be screams of fear. Of anguish. Of pain.

I had heard of fear inducing heart attacks and I wondered dimly if it were possible in this situation. Aside from that lone thought—and a thought of Derek, a mental cry for his radar to sound and come to my rescue—I tried to clear my mind, to get a hold on my ragged breathing, to numb myself for what was to come.

Just as Liam was running his sweaty hand slowly up my thigh, he was suddenly airborne, a foreign foot having kicked him off me. Swiftly, I was pulled upright as hands simultaneously—all the while being very mindful of where they were touching—adjusted my dress.

Derek's wild eyes met mine, and for a moment, they seemed to calm. Liam, who was currently writhing on the ground, was forgotten momentarily as Derek asked, with inscrutable eyes and clenched fists, "Did he do anything to you?" His voice shook slightly, the rage not fully masked. I knew what he was asking, what he was genuinely wondering, and so I said, "No."

Heavy relief washed through his eyes as he scanned my face quickly. Gaze lingering on my cheek, sorrow replaced the relief as his mouth creased downwards and he furrowed his brow. Then, everything fell away as a new wave of anger overcame him.

Placing me behind him, he turned towards Liam, who had gotten up and was now facing us.

Wincing slightly, he said while approaching us, "Derek, come to ruin my fun again."

Derek held himself tensely, shoulders taut underneath his shirt and hands clenching and unclenching at his side.

"I told you to stay away from her," he said threateningly.

"So you did—I thought it was more of a suggestion," he replied cockily.

He was now toe to toe with Derek, who took a moment to gently push me farther away.

"Listen scumbag," Derek said in an angry, authoritative voice. "I don't care if you have administration wrapped around your disgusting fingers. _This _is not—"

He was stopped mid-sentence as Liam's fist connected with his jaw. Recovering quickly, Derek reciprocated, punching him solidly at the side of the mouth.

It was a flurry of limbs after that. An outbreak of fists and gasps and grunts, punctuated by blood splaying around them. One punch merited another and soon, they were both going at it on the ground. Grabbing Derek by the hair, Liam raked the side of his face across the grate, making sure to never alleviate any of the pressure. Filled with fury and tired of being powerless—epitomizing the girl in movies who drives everybody crazy as she watches from the sidelines while her savior is injured at her expense—I approached them with the intention of kicking and scratching until I could kick or scratch no more. But with admirable resilience, Derek managed to throw Liam off him and, seemingly ignorant of his struggles, rest his weight firmly atop him. With three swift movements of his hands—a punch to one side of Liam's jaw, a punch to the other, and a punch to the side of the head, Liam stopped struggling and, breathing heavily, dropped his head and his hands to the ground.

Going to stand beside them, I placed a foot on Liam's arm, maliciously wanting to make him feel trapped.

"As I was saying," Derek said calmly, though still with slightly labored breathing, "this is it Liam. If you so much as _look _at Chloe again, I'm going to administration and we both know you don't want that. What you did to her is something the law refers to as assault," he said, rather condescendingly, "and what you _intended _to do to her could also be argued as attempted rape." He seemed to have trouble saying this last bit and I started fleetingly, the severity of our encounter finally catching up to me. I didn't know how and I didn't know why, but somehow, Derek had found me, had saved me—truly saved me—once again. And I had called him unreliable. If anything, I now valued him even more than I had. Not having Derek in my life only entailed bad things, not to mention emotional turmoil, and I was intent on patching things up, tired of being hurt, tired of being angry and tired of missing him.

Continuing, he said, "And considering you're eighteen, you could be tried as an adult. I think it's safe to say that you could kiss all those tantalizing football scholarships goodbye if you were convicted and sent to prison. So, just to make things crystal clear, stay away from Chloe—from any girl for that matter—but especially Chloe, or you _will _be sorry."

He stared at him hard, making sure he understood, and met Liam's resigned, hate-filled eyes unflinchingly.

Satisfied, Derek got up and put his hand on the small of my back, guiding me back to my car and away from the predator. I glanced up at him in assessment, trying to swallow the worry at the sight of damage I could see, and said, "You're coming to my house."

To my complete and utter astonishment, he agreed. Before getting into my car, he deftly pulled his shirt over his head and proceeded to remove the tank top he had been wearing underneath. While the sight of him shirtless was a short one—for he put his shirt back on—I still managed to bump my head in my hurry to get in the car. Taking a seat beside me with the tank top held against his nose, the drive was a silent one until he had managed to stop the bleeding, finally voicing the irritation that had been evident to me by the incessant tapping of his foot.

"I really don't understand how you manage to get yourselves into these situations, Chloe." He didn't sound mad, and he didn't sound scolding, but he _did_ sound irritated. However, I managed to detect worry in his tone that I believe he was trying to mask.

"Derek," I said sharply, holding his gaze for a moment, "you have really got to stop blaming me for these things. Contrary to your belief, I do _not_ wave a sign over my head advertising myself as prey. You can't possibly be mad that by some sick twist of fate, I was targeted by someone like Liam. That was _not_ my fault." My voice had risen slightly and I found myself worked up, wondering how it was that Derek and I always seemed to end up arguing.

"I know it's not your fault. It's just—" He blew out a frustrated breath.

"Did Simon tell you I was coming," he asked intently.

"Yes."

"Why didn't you wait for me then," he asked carefully, quietly.

"After two hours, forgive me for thinking you weren't." My tone was sharper than I intended and I looked at him regretfully.

He looked slightly anguished. "I didn't know—I thought that maybe—"

"You showed up just in time," I said quietly, interrupting his struggle for words. I could get to the bottom of that later.

Again, he curled his hand into a fist. "If I had been there earlier—"

Cutting off what was sure to be an admission of guilt, I said stridently, "This was in no way your fault, Derek. You couldn't have prevented this—it would have happened eventually, that had always been his goal—and you do not deserve any blame."

He opened his mouth and I shook my head once decisively, refusing to let him argue.

Pulling into the driveway, I motioned for Derek to hold on for a minute. Pressing a number on my cell phone, I listened impatiently as it rang, waiting for Aunt Lauren to pick up.

"Hi hun," she said happily, carelessly it seemed when my night was anything but.

"Hi," I said brightly. "Um, Mila asked me if I wanted to sleep over and I said okay, so I won't be at your place tonight. Is that alright," I asked, somewhat timidly. Three years of drama had thankfully done some good.

"Of course, of course," she exclaimed. "Thanks for calling me. I'll see you tomorrow. Love you."

"Love you too," I said before flipping the phone shut.

Evading Derek's curious gaze, I got out and as I was opening the front door, I felt his presence behind me. Walking in with Derek following, I turned to lock the door and, turning back around to face him, I was surprised by how close he was.

Looking up, I saw him scrutinizing me with worried eyes.

"Are you alright? I know that's a stupid question, but are you?"

"Yeah. Once again thanks to you."

"Liam is never going to be near you again. You don't have to worry about him anymore. I promise, Chloe," he said with fervent conviction that I couldn't help but trust. Nodding, my eyes locked with his and the oddest thing happened. While a sense of calm seemed to descend upon me, my heart started hammering, my throat going dry. I felt strangely restless, as if standing here and staring at him was not enough. Coughing pointlessly, I looked away and said, "We need to get you cleaned up."

He gestured for me to lead the way and I led him up the stairs and into the large, unused communal bathroom.

Instructing him to sit on the edge of the tub, I began busying myself, gathering a clean towel, a roll of paper towel, and band-aids—the professional kind, courtesy of Aunt Lauren.

"Chloe," he said, and I turned to look at him questioningly. "I'm—"

"You're not fine," I snapped.

He took a moment to glare at me before resuming, "I can take care of myself fo—"

"Yes, Derek, I am fully aware you can take care of yourself," I said exasperatedly. "But will you just, for the love of Go—"

"Will you stop interrupting me," he snapped.

Arms crossed, I waited. Taking a breath, he said, "As I was _originally _going to say, I'm concerned about the cuts on your cheek. Go change and then I'll take a look at them."

"You're more hurt than I am," I exclaimed. "How about focusing on the guy who was actually _in _the fight?"

"If you're so eager to get me cleaned up, then you'll stop protesting. The quicker you do, the faster we tend to me." His jaw was set, his tone resolute and there was victory in his eyes.

Spinning, I stormed to my room, but not before muttering how ludicrous he was and hoping he heard. Ripping off the dress, I quickly pulled on my sweats and a tank top that I realized regrettably, only on the way back, was a bit tighter than I remembered.

"Happy," I asked.

"Ecstatic," he replied dryly. "Sit on the counter," he commanded.

Hefting myself up, I decided not to say anything. He was right and he was stubborn. The faster he got me cleaned up, the faster I could tend to him, which was my main concern.

He wet a paper towel and gently began wiping my left cheek, eyes intent on the task at hand. I bit my tongue, trying to keep from hissing in pain, whenever he increased pressure with the objective of removing the gravel that was apparently also ground into the wound. Then, with delicacy that still surprised me, he cleaned it with soap and then patted it dry. Eyes scanning over his handiwork, he said, "The cuts and scratches aren't deep. I think it'd be better to let them breathe rather than cover them up."

"Okay." Just as I was about to order him about and silence him so I could properly care for the extensive damage—a cut lip liable to swell, a cut eyebrow, a bloodied nose, a scrapped cheek pitted with gravel and another whose bone was already darkening—he began to do so, almost silently rebuffing my help, so I leaned back against the mirror, still sitting on the counter, and watched him.

After a while of careful thinking, I asked, "How did you find me?"

Sparing a glance my way, he said, "When I got there and couldn't find you, I went to ask Simon if he knew where you were. He was with that girl he went with—"

"Mila."

Waving away the distinction, he went on, "and she said that you had sent her a text saying you were leaving. I don't know, call it a bad feeling, but I was worried and went looking for you. And then… well, you know."

"Simon said you'd been in a black mood ever since our fight. Why?"

"Like you weren't in a bad mood either," he countered. "And why are you always talking to Simon about me," he asked, clearly irritated, his previous feelings beginning to resurface.

"Because _you're_ not always talking to me," I said sharply, though completely unsure of where that had come from. Even more surprising was realizing how true it was. I was reduced to talk to Simon about Derek—pathetically desperate for information on him—because I was never positively sure of where we stood.

For a few tense seconds, we regarded each other warily. I wanted him to answer the question, but I wasn't sure if he's choose instead to defend himself.

Sighing and throwing the paper towel he had been using into the garbage, he said softly, "Because you drive me crazy, Chloe."

My eyebrows shot up in surprise, expecting anything but that, and he smirked at me, almost as if saying, '_what are you going to do about that?'_

Swallowing, deciding to leave it alone for the moment, I said instead, "Take off your shirt."

His own eyebrows shot up in surprise and he asked disbelievingly, "What?"

I rolled my eyes. "I saw the fight, Derek, so I saw Liam hit you more than once in the ribs. And I also drove you here, so I also saw you not put on your seat belt. Am I wrong in thinking there's a connection between the two?"

"I didn't known you could pull sixties in math and still have an M.D," he said sardonically, being the martyr that he is.

"Glad to know that our teaching relationship goes both ways," I said sweetly.

Eyes narrowed, and with some grumbling, he did away with his black, soft-looking v-neck. As his chest slowly came into, I tried with notable effort to think of things—the Texas Chainsaw Massacre, for example—that would keep me from turning an attractive tomato red. As I suspected, there was a nasty looking bruise quickly forming on his upper right rib. However, it only made Derek look all the more dark and intimidating, highlighting the fact that his remarkably sculpted body was amazingly resilient, not to go down without serious fight.

"Do you think it's broken," I asked hesitantly, though also with an attempt at regaining a semblance of focus.

He shook his head.

"Right, well, " I said stupidly. Avoiding his eyes, I slid off the counter, which is perhaps the biggest mistake I've ever made. Not realizing how close Derek was standing, in my attempt to dismount, I inadvertently slid my body along the length of his until my feet touched the floor. He grew still as a statue and my breath caught in my throat. After a few long, conscious seconds of neither of us doing anything about our proximity, my eyes traveled up from the ground to his eyes, which were watching me intensely. Gazes locked, the same thing as before seemed to happen again. My throat went dry and my heart was having a field day in my chest, beating what I would swear was a mile a minute. He stepped closer, which I hadn't thought possible, and set his hands on the counter behind me, enclosing me within the barrier of his arms. I couldn't help but notice the difference in feeling of when Liam had done so compared to Derek doing so, which had me feeling agonizingly anticipated.

As his face drew nearer to mine and our eyes stayed locked, I brought my hands around his neck, my inner movie-maker appreciating the tension he was building, but _me_ wanting what was about to happen _to happen_ more quickly. He brought one hand even closer to the side of my body while the other snaked around the back of my thighs. He took a moment to smoothly and effortlessly hoist me back onto the counter, but the moment was still too long for me. I drew him nearer still and he did the same, drawing me in by the waist. He was so close, I could feel his breath on my face, and yet, he still wasn't close enough. Heads tilted in perfect harmony, I closed my eyes. Feeling the tentative brush of his lips, I—the sound of his phone ringing was, in that moment, like the sound of a gunshot. Heart slamming and eyes snapping open, I jumped, which caused me to knock into Derek. He caught me by the waist, and, still holding onto to me, let out a shaky breath while he reached, somewhat dazedly, around to his back pocket with his free hand to retrieve his cell phone. Glancing at the caller ID, his eyes narrowed and his grip around me tightened briefly as he flipped open the phone.

"What," he growled.

Wearing a severely annoyed expression while listening to whoever was on the other line—Simon, I assumed—I tried to organize my thoughts, but all I could think was how badly I wanted a remote control for life, to go back, rewind the moment, and see—experience—what would have happened if not for the phone call.

Snapping the phone shut, his eyes slid back to mine, softening, though also looking regretful.

The moment had passed and it could not be recaptured—at least, I hoped, just for the moment. We both undeniable knew that.

"I should get going," he said, eyes sliding away from mine and backing up, giving me room I wasn't sure I wanted.

"D-do you need a ride," I asked, so caught up I didn't even care about the stutter.

He took a moment before answering, finally saying quietly, "Yeah, thanks."

He waited for me to slide off the counter and leave the bathroom before following me out. Surprising myself by not tumbling down the stairs because of week knees, I went straight for the door, only pausing to grab a jacket and lock the door. I was preoccupied by the hesitance in Derek's voice when he accepted my offer for a ride. His eyes were shuttered and he seemed to fold back into himself, as if reestablishing the distance that had been so wholly shattered only moments before.

After refreshing my memory with directions to his house, the ride was silent until he asked, "Are you going to be okay tonight?"

"Fine."

He looked puzzled by my short response, but I was too apprehensive about the bigger picture to care.

"Why did it take you so long to get there? To the dance, I mean."

This was what I was veritably curious about. It wasn't as if he had prior, conflicting engagements. Derek had purposefully gotten there late and I wanted to know why. Did he think that it wasn't worth it—that _I_ wasn't worth it—but was too decent to so blatantly stand me up? Or was he trying to make a point? That he didn't have the same target in mind that I did and hoped his tardiness properly conveyed that?

He looked conflicted, but answered nonetheless. "There were a myriad of reasons," he said ambiguously.

"I'm listening."

"You were mad—don't think I didn't catch all the glares you graced me with. I didn't know if you were willing to forgive me after everything that had happened."

While that may have been _a _reason, I still wasn't buying it. There was something else, something I couldn't put my finger on, that was holding him back.

"That's one reason. I thought there were a multitude."

The conflict in his eyes grew, as did the irritation. Deciding to push him a little, knowing he was always more open when aggravated, I said, "I'm waiting."

"Why do you care so much about the reason," he demanded.

"Why is me caring a problem?" I asked, equally as heated.

"Because you're not supposed to." His voice rang throughout the small space of the car and for a moment, things were deathly quiet. I didn't dare interrupt, afraid that any intervention on my part would keep him from talking.

Angrily, he continued, "_This_ is why I wasn't sure if I should come, why I came late. Because of what you do to me, Chloe."

As determined as I was to let him have his time, I was not going to let him off unscathed.

"What _I _do to _you?_ Can you even hear yourself, Derek? What about what you do to me? You're hot and cold, saving me from danger one day and acting as if I'm part of the scenery the next. At least I'm always there, never rebuffing you."

As soon as the words left my mouth, I understood, and I wondered how I'd been so dense, how I hadn't figured it out sooner.

"_Exactly,_" he said with emphasis. Still frustrated—though I wasn't sure whether it was at himself or me—he went on, "I wasn't lying before, Chloe. You drive me crazy. You're a complete contradiction. You go against every conception I had about you, you challenge everything I expect from you, from other people. You don't act the way you're supposed to act and it's maddening. You drew me in, you make me feel irrationally and you've made me question myself."

He was breathing hard and he was simmering, eyes meeting mine challengingly all the while regaining their prior aloofness.

"Why even bother then? Why did you even show up if I make you feel so terribly," I questioned.

I was outside of his house at this point, parked in his driveway. Nothing was keeping him from leaving my car. Nothing but himself. If he left, then the saying would be true—actions truly did speak louder than words. At least I'd gotten a glimpse into his mind, a fraction of the truth, and I'd have to suck it up and be okay with it. But _if _he chose to answer the question, if he told me the truth, not because he was forced to, confined in a space with me, but because he was willingly doing so, then things might never be as clear as they had the potential to be.

At that moment, I was simultaneously the best and worst person in the world to him. While he despised me for doing this to him, it was what he needed. Derek, Derek who seemed to know everything, couldn't ignore something because it confused him or because he couldn't understand. It just so happened to be that that something was me. But I was willing to spend all the time in the world clearing it up. The question was, was he?

Finally he said, "Because not going, not seeing you, felt even worse than having to face you."

And it was out in the open.

Derek was new to this, but so was I. I wanted to face things and I was forcing him to do the same. At the same time though, I still felt as if we were dancing around something, as if there was still something left to clear up.

I liked Derek, if it hadn't already been painstakingly obvious. A lot. And I think he liked me, too. But inexperience and haziness and the exhaustion of the past three weeks made me unsure.

Looking into his eyes, he looked uncertain, too. Eyes swirling with things I couldn't name, wasn't familiar with for I still needed time to grow accustomed to Derek, he murmured, eyes evading mine, "I'll see you around, I guess," and got out of the car.

I almost felt like laughing. Almost. Did he really think I was going to accept leaving things like this? That I was going to spend my two weeks of vacation wondering, worrying and obsessing over every minute detail of this night that ended so abruptly here? He had another thing coming.

I got out of the car, slamming the door, and he paused in his trek to his house to look back at me with unhappy eyes.

"You can't leave things like this, Derek. If you're going to leave, fine. But at least tell me why you're still pushing me away," I called.

"Because it wouldn't work out!" His anger was back in full force and I met it gladly.

"How do you know? You won't even try. And here I thought you were a fighter." It was a low blow, but I used what I could to keep him going.

"Being with me won't do you any good. You see how the people who know about the accident look at me. You know what they think," he said, giving me a hard look. "Why would you surround yourself with someone who carried that over his head. Imagine what people would think. I don't care, but you should, Chloe. You don't need me tainting you."

I was about to protest, but he continued, "And Liam! I'd bet any money that Liam—as sadistic as he already his—kept at you to get to me. I never wanted anything to happen to you, Chloe and look at how things turned out."

I could see the self-deprecation, the confusion and the anger. But the overall effect was saddening, and I could see that in his eyes, in his stance, too. Derek was taking the blame for whatever he could justify in his mind. He was waiting for me—expecting me—to walk away, so he was trying to do it first.

He looked at me, eyes pleading me to understand all the while begging me to let it go, walk away, because that was what he knew how to deal with. But that was the last thing I'd ever do. The wall that I always felt had separated Derek and I, kept us at a safe distance, had dissolved, had finally cracked under the pressure. The _only_ thing that was keeping us apart now was the literal physical distance between us.

Approaching him, he watched me apprehensively. I decided that if he had been brave enough to be truthful, then so should I. But I was tired of words and I honestly thought Derek wouldn't understand how wrong he was until I showed him. After all, he, if anyone, believed unfalteringly that you had to see things to believe them. He needed proof and I would supply it for him.

Not stopping until I was close to him, as close as we had been what seemed like hours ago, I said, "You drive me crazy, too."

Then, pulling him down by the front of his shirt, I planted my lips firmly on his, witnessing first hand that even someone as unyielding as Derek Souza can reach their tolerance level, as, after a second of hesitation, his arms snaked around me, taking control of the kiss and forcing all coherent thoughts out of my mind.

**This was by far the hardest chapter I've ever written. I've never been so nervous about putting one out, either. If you don't like it, I need to know-it'll go back to the chopping block. I feel like I was on the emotional roller coaster with them. R&R please... :)**


	16. Chapter 16

After the last chapter, everything I wrote felt very anti-climatic. I thought about leaving it there, but things felt a little unfinished, so I give you this, a light-hearted ending.

Now, onto serious business. You-yes you who's reading this-whether you've been reading, just started reading and/or reviewed, I thank you infinitely. Your support means the world and I write for you guys because you provide constant motivation. It feels so great to get feedback from so many talented people. You're all amazing! And a special thanks to my lovely beta-buddy Alasyn :)

_The End_

While a dim part of my mind was wondering if I was doing this right—after all, it _was _my first kiss—the dominant part was reveling in the feeling. If I were any judge, Derek was a _great _kisser. His lips were soft and each kiss thorough, leaving me wanting more. Reaching my hands up into his hair—which was surprisingly soft—I ran my fingers through it, gently tugging for better leverage. In response, he lightly bit my lower lip, tugging at it softly and causing me to gasp. Taking advantage, he slipped his tongue into my mouth and astoundingly, I did _not_ internally combust from the fire that seemed to be scorching my entire being. However, to my dismay, oxygen became a necessity and I pulled away, breathing heavily. I didn't get far though for his arms tightened around me and he drew me back into him, bending down so our foreheads touched, resting against each other's.

All I could see were his emerald green orbs staring straight at me, almost it seemed, right into me. He looked alive and wondrous and—and _content_, something I hadn't even glimpsed at in so long that I felt myself surge with happiness.

My arms had slipped to his neck and his were wrapped around me, resting firmly on my lower back. We were so close that I could feel his heartbeat, which seemed to be identically rapid to mine. His eyes closed momentarily but I couldn't do the same. I was caught up in him, caught up in what had just happened. As much as Derek may think that we'd never work, I could tell that he wanted this—us—as much as I did by the way he kissed me, all together tender and hungry.

Pulling back all the while keeping his hold on me strong, he opened his eyes and his mouth and—

"Oh _God_, my eyes are burning," exclaimed someone, sounding pained. Looking towards the porch, I saw Tori standing there, back bent and an arm thrown over her eyes melodramatically. As if it weren't enough, Simon came waltzing out next and said, "How odd. We haven't even tied you to the stake yet."

"Hi, Chloe," he said, turning his attention my way and grinning wickedly, ignoring Tori, who practically had steam coming out of her ears.

While I turned several shades of red, Derek groaned and he closed his eyes once again, this time wearing a pained expression. Then, focusing on me, he said quietly, "You may want to go home. Once my dad sees—"

"Derek," someone else called—his dad, I presumed—sounding relieved and walking out onto the porch, joining Tori and Simon.

"Where have you been? Simon said that—oh," he finished, startled as he finally realized that Derek wasn't alone.

"You must be Chloe," he said, smiling

He was like an older version of Simon. While his hair was dark, though beginning to silver, and he was a couple of inches taller, there wasn't a doubt that they were father and son. They shared identical warm grins and had the same lean builds and spiked hair, though Mr. Bae's seemed more tamed. I was, however, surprised that he knew who I was, though I suspected Simon had something to with it.

I was about to take a step forward when Derek—who was now standing beside me with an arm around my waist—tightened his grip, preventing me from doing so. The porch light barely reached us and we were almost bathed in darkness, making it hard for anyone to properly make us out. My mind suddenly put two and two together, justifying Derek's odd behavior, his seeming tenseness and his reluctance to let me approach his family.

If I continued on, Derek would have no choice but to follow me, and he didn't exactly look like a million bucks. Was he worried about what his dad would think? Did he not want me here for the inevitable interrogation? Whatever the reason, Derek couldn't stay outside forever.

I was about to quietly point this out to him when Mr. Bae, wearing a quizzical expression, asked, "Derek?"

He could tell something was wrong; there was a tightness around his eyes that hadn't been there before and his voice sounded hesitant, as if he were afraid of what could possibly be the matter.

Sighing, Derek looked down at me once more, and apparently able to read his mind, his dad said, "I think it would be wise if Chloe came in."

Hand on my lower back, intermittently running his thumb soothingly up and down, Derek and I walked towards them. As soon as we were within the light of the porch, they're expressions changed. Tori's air of interest and any residual indignation at Simon's comment fell away as did Simon's look of restlessness and Mr. Bae's anxiety, all replaced by blanched looks of shock as they registered Derek and I standing, damaged, before them.

Recovering quickly and almost completely masking his surprise and pushing away his anxiety, Mr. Bae stepped aside and motioned to the front door, beckoning us in. He waited for us all to trudge in before following, closing the door firmly behind him.

I had no time to properly look around for we headed straight for the kitchen, which was at the back of the house and absolutely gorgeous. It was perfectly contemporary with stainless steel appliances, a big, wooden island that also seemed to serve as their dinning table, and white cabinetry. Everything—as had what I had been able to glimpse at—was orderly and clean; however, unlike my house, which shared the same qualities, there was something definably homey about it. It felt lived-in and comfortable, like a safe haven.

While we all took seats around the island—Derek having pulled mine out—Mr. Bae walked around to the opposite side and stood facing us.

"Before hearing your explanations," he said, pointedly looking at Derek and I, "I'd first like to say that it's nice to meet you, Chloe and I apologize that we seem to be meeting under less than ideal circumstances." He offered a sympathetic, good-natured smile and I couldn't help but return it—another thing he seemed to share with Simon.

"It's nice to meet you too, Mr. Bae."

"Please, call me Kit," he looked at me and waited for my reluctant nod before continuing, "And just so I have my facts straight, you're the girl Derek's been tutoring in math, correct?"

At this, Tori snorted derisively, interrupting my answer. "He's been doing more than just math, dad. What else was there? Chemistry? The interactions between two separate pieces of matter?" Her eyes were dancing with amusement and narrowed wickedly. Simon's lips were twitching uncontrollably while Mr. Bae—Kit—was torn between humor and discomfort. As for Derek and I, he sat glowering beside me while I gave the red apples residing on the countertop a run for their money.

Clearing his throat, Kit asked, once again looking between Derek and me, "Who would like to start?"

Derek shifted slightly, settling in closer to me. While we were not touching, he was close enough that I felt the heat of his body emanating onto mine, that his newly acquired tension seemed almost palpable. Opening his mouth, he began.

"And that's it. We went to Chloe's house afterwards, cleaned up and she was just dropping me off when you all came outside," Derek finished, having not only recounted the events of tonight, but also our previous encounters with Liam. The only thing he had left out was the state he had found me in, pinned under Liam. Kit already seemed conflicted by the fact that we didn't—_I_ didn't—want to take any further action and I think Derek was attempting to control the situation. If Kit _did _know, it'd be pretty safe to say that there would be no chance he'd let Liam walk away with only Derek's threat to keep in mind. It's not that I don't believe in taking a stand and justice being served. I just had a feeling that Derek's warning would keep him in line, and because nothing _had_ happened, I didn't want to cause unnecessary worry.

During the retelling, Derek had shifted almost unconsciously closer to me, our knees now touching and our arms skimming as we waited for Kit, Tori and Simon to process everything.

There were lines of consternation etched into Kit's forehead and his brow was furrowed in worry, discord visible in his eyes—should he leave things be or should he push for something more severe to be done? Simon was a bit paler than usual and Tori had assumed a carefully composed mask, void of any distinguishable emotion. However, they were all angry. It danced in the depths of Kit's eyes; was at the surface of Simon's; and it could be detected in the way Tori was holding herself stiffly, hands intertwined together so tightly her knuckles had long ago turned white.

"That sociopathic asshole," Tori whispered fiercely, taking us all off guard. Her preserve had slipped away and her eyes were now blazing in fury.

Kit seemed to snap back into the present at her words, no longer lost in his thoughts. Firmly, he said, "While I don't know if I agree with you, Chloe, I can understand why you don't want to cause a riot. _However,"_ he said with emphasis, "_if anything_, and I mean anything even remotely threatening or uncomfortable, happens again—"

"It won't," Derek said strongly, interrupting him.

"You may not always be there," Kit reasoned, picking up on what Derek meant.

He fell silent, looking anxious, as his father continued, "As I was saying, if there are any other disturbances, you can't keep quiet, Chloe. He needs to be put in his place."

I nodded understandingly and we fell silent once again. Kit sighed and ran his hands over his face, looking tired and puncturing the quiet.

"I think it'd be best if you went home and got some rest now, Chloe. Despite the circumstances, it was nice to meet you and I hope to see more of you," Kit said, managing to share a knowing smile with Derek and I.

Surely blushing, I offered my goodbyes, Simon shooting me a miraculously good-natured smile and Tori gracing me with a nod and solid eye contact.

Derek walked me to the front door silently, leading me out onto the front porch and closing the door behind him while I made my way to the railing. We obviously had to talk about what had transpired, about what would happen with 'us,' but I didn't know if now would be the ideal time to do so.

Suddenly, I felt his hand on my waist, fingers resting on my sides lightly, tentatively. Without hesitation, I leaned back, relaxing against him, and his arms encircled me as he bent down to burry his face in the crook of my neck.

I don't know how long we stood like that, silently communicating what we could not say out loud in fear of disturbing the fleeting peace we had created. Too soon though, he pulled away, leaving me feeling exposed.

Turning around to face him, he said, "My dad wants to talk me. Go home and sleep. I-We'll talk later," recovering after a slight hesitation.

"Ok," I said quietly and our eyes locked for a few interminable moments before I turned away, towards my car, and drove off with him still watching me.

* * *

Sighing, I rolled out of bed and tiredly trudged to the bathroom to brush my teeth. My night had been restless, punctuated by tossing and turning and bouts of refusal to sleep, fighting to keep my eyes open as I listened intently—and anxiously—to every creak a house makes, afraid it was something, or rather _someone,_ else.

Leaving Derek, the night's events had finally caught up to me and I had a whole night alone to let them settle in. Finally, at around six in the morning, I had fallen into an exhausted slumber and now, four hours later, I looked pale and deathly, to my delight.

Grabbing my school sweater from my bedpost, I walked lazily down the stairs, stopping in the kitchen to put some coffee on, before continuing to the front door to retrieve the paper. If anything, reviews of last night's releases would settle my nerves.

Opening the door, I stopped in my tracks and almost did a double take.

Sitting on the stairs with his back turned to me and his forearms resting on his knees, was Derek. Hearing my intake of surprised breath, he whipped around to look at me and quickly stood up.

Pushing away the hitch in my heartbeat, I said cautiously, "Hi."

We regarded each other for a few moments and I noticed that he looked as tired as I felt and even a bit worse, the cuts on his eyebrow and lip already heeling but the bruise on his cheek having angrily darkened over night. There was something in his manner that seemed anxious, restless, as if he had something to say and wanted to say it as soon as he could.

"How long have you been out here," I wondered aloud.

"What time is it?"

"Ten."

"Since eight."

Taken aback, I was about to ask him what was so important when he interrupted me, saying gruffly, "We need to talk."

I don't know whether it was because that was _the _classic line or whether it was because I'm a girl and the reaction to those words seems almost instinctual, but my heart started back up again, rejection sweeping through me.

"About?" Trying to delay it was futile, but try I did.

He pushed his hair out of his eyes and proceeded to shove his hands into his pockets. Then, he said quietly, "I don't know what yesterday means."

He was so serious and seemed so intent that I managed to contain the giggle that threatened to escape my lips, brought on by relief and the ability to see the irony. Derek was one of the smartest people I knew, and yet he was still confused about something I couldn't have communicated any more clearly.

Tried as I did, I still cracked, and smirking, said, "I thought I made things pretty clear."

He blew out a frustrated breath. "Chloe, yesterday was pretty intense. I didn't know how you were feeling because we never got a chance to talk about it. But I can imagine. I didn't—still don't—know if what happened _happened _because you were scared or wanted to forget about what happened or—"

"Derek, I kissed you because I _wanted _to, _have _wanted to," I added on quietly, trying to control my blush. "Not because of any other reason your mind may be able to come up with," I said sharply, voice unwavering.

Pushing away a wide-eyed expression, he fought on, saying, "I still don't know what you want."

Incredulous, I replied, "I don't know what else I can say, what else I can do, Derek. I want you," I tried not to wince at how clichéd it was and went on a bit more stridently, "This isn't about what I want. I know what I want and you know what I want. This is about you and about what _you _want, what you're going to decided to do." Once the words left my mouth, I realized how true they were. I wasn't uncertain about what I wanted at this point—hell, it was standing right in front of me. To my dismay, it was still Derek I was waiting for, to be decisive and determine whether he truly wanted to cut me from the string he had me on or whether he was ready to pull me in.

His eyes, which had strayed from mine in guilt, snapped back to me, blazing. But I was accustomed to him and continued, another thing coming to mind.

"Actually, I want something else, too. I want you to give us a chance, Derek. You're giving up before you've even considered the possibility of us working. And that's not who you are. If you think you're the only one who has something to-to be scared of, you're wrong. This isn't about doing things right. I don't care how right or how wrong things go. What I care about is actually having had the courage to try at all. So this is it, Derek. What do _you_ want?"

I waited, watching him wage an internal battle, for what though, I couldn't say. I wanted him to take that chance, to pick me, but after so long and so many mixed signals and cataclysms, I would settle for the truth, whatever it may be.

Without any warning, he took a step towards me, bringing one arm around my waist as his other hand came up to cradle my face.

He ran his thumb lightly across my lower lip, a whisper of a touch that left me breathless and caused me to shiver. While I waited, feeling like I was teetering on the edge of a knife, his eyes drank me in, though frequently returning to my lips. He brought the hand that was framing my face around to the back of my head, intertwining his fingers in my hair. Then, without hesitance and with an assuredness that hadn't been there last night, he set his lips firmly on mine, conveying everything he couldn't seem to articulate into _this_ kiss, that lapped seamlessly into another.

He ran his tongue gently across my bottom lip, effectively rendering me at his mercy. I snaked my arms around his neck, trying in vain to pull myself closer. The hand in my hair dropped, skimming down my back and meeting his other hand, holding me in place. _'You,' _he seemed to be saying_, 'you're what I want and I'm sure of it.'_

Tried as hard as I did not to, I had to break away, gasping for breath. He compensated by placing his face in the crook of my neck, intermittently planting soft kisses on me.

Pulling away, I said with admirable control over my breathing, "Derek, I don't know what this means." While my tone was serious, I was teasing and he knew it.

He smirked—a smirk, it seemed, reserved for me—and said, "You think you're funny don't you?"

"Uh-huh," I said grinning.

He rolled his eyes, lips twitching, before pulling me towards him once again, effectively stopping any other jokes from leaving my now preoccupied mouth.

* * *

I was sitting on the floor, my Mac propped open on the coffee table, working on the final edits of the script, when Aunt Lauren walked into the living room and took a seat on the couch across from me.

"Hun, can we talk?"

I closed my computer and looked up at her, waiting.

Giving her lip one last chew, she said, "I know break just started and you were busy last week with all your tests so we haven't spent that much time together, but I can't help but think that it also has something to do with-with Derek. You haven't been yourself ever since we've had that conversation about him."

I had yet to tell her Derek and I were dating; I was still enjoying the beginnings of relationship bliss. We had been together almost every day, making up for lost time, but to my aunt, he had been Amber or Mila or both.

My days with Derek were somewhat indescribable. While we knew each other's personalities and the heavier parts of the other's past, we seemed to have skipped past the lighter side of things, and so we were doing that. We spent hours on end talking about everything and anything, nothing was out of bounds. While he still didn't talk about the accident, I knew he would in time. And that was the best thing, knowing that we had time, seemingly at points, like all the time in the world. God help me—we had only been a couple for five days, if that—but I couldn't help but feel that Derek and I would last, or at least, were bound to go far. The connection was undeniable and there was something indescribably homey about him, making me feel comfortable and protected—always.

Focusing on Aunt Lauren, I said frankly, "I didn't feel like you had the right to judge him, especially as harshly as you were."

She flinched slightly, but stood by her original perception, saying, "I understand, Chloe, I do. But the facts are the facts and I only want what's best for you."

"Do you remember when I always used to get made fun of because of my stutter," I asked suddenly, hoping that I could make her see reason.

"Of course," she said, sounding almost offended that I had thought she hadn't.

"Well whenever I came home upset, you always used to say that unfortunately, those kids didn't know better. That they were being closed-minded and if they didn't take the time to get to know _me_, to look past the surface, they weren't worth my time at all."

I looked at her pointedly and understanding alighted her features.

She looked down, slightly ashamed, but looked back at me after a moment, the fight still there, but significantly less resolute.

"I don't know if it's the same thing, Chloe," she said quietly, a final attempt at arguing her point.

"It is," I said definitively.

She looked hesitant, and I continued, "I-I like Derek." I waited for the mind that had gotten her through med school to process what I meant and went on, ignoring her wide, slightly panic-stricken eyes, "I _know_ what happened, but more importantly, I know him. He doesn't deserve the cards he's been dealt and he deals with them as best as he can. He shouldn't be judged for something he had no control over, something he never would have chosen to do."

I looked at her hard and I could see my reason waging a war against her beliefs. While she still looked fairly adamant, she _did_ nod, almost imperceptibly, before getting up and leaving the room, pausing only to bend down and kiss my forehead on the way.

* * *

Opening my locker, I couldn't help but curse myself for completely destroying any semblance of a proper sleeping schedule over the break. Though I looked well rested, I was anything but, and was currently running on three hours of sleep. Looking blearily at my books, I was even too sleepy to jump when I heard an unexpected voice beside me.

"Hey, Chloe, how was your break," asked a smiling Nate, standing beside me.

Amber had told me during a conversation via phone a couple of days after the dance that things would definitely not work out between her and Nate. She said she had been caught up in the moment and regretted it, for more than one reason. She had said that on top of being kind of clingy—a no-no for free-spirited Amber-he still wasn't over me. When I had tried to object, she vehemently insisted, saying that after I had left, he started wallowing.

Looking over at him, I knew I had to tread carefully.

"Good, how about yours?"

"Pretty good. So, what were you up to," he asked casually.

"I spent time with Derek, so that was great," I said smiling.

His friendly look darkened and I had to bite down on my lip to keep a straight face. _If only Derek were here_, I thought.

"I didn't think you were that bad at math," he said laughing, apparently trying to justify the time I spent with Derek as anything but the obvious.

I had expected more from Nate, less pettiness I suppose, but at the same time, he was a sixteen-year-old boy who had just been shot down a second time, so I tried to be understanding, the key word being 'tried.'

Just as I was opening my mouth to attempt a good-natured retort—a contradiction, I know—I felt strong arms wrap around me from behind. Derek's scent—woodsy, warm, all-boy and inviting—washed over me and I smiled up at him, even though he wasn't looking at me.

Nate's grin seemed to be frozen in place, though Derek's stare seemed to make it waver. Without another word, he walked away having shot a final glance my way.

As he disappeared into the crowd, I could feel Derek relax behind me, and laughing, I turned around to face him.

"I really don't like that kid."

"I never would have guessed," I deadpanned.

"That was a terrible example of sarcasm."

"Funny, and I thought I was the one with the higher English mark," I said teasingly.

He narrowed his eyes and pulled on my ponytail.  
"Aren't you witty."

Rising onto my toes, I pulled him down by his shirtfront and gave him a quick kiss—not entirely comfortable with big public displays of affection—before murmuring, "You have _nothing _to worry about."

His lips twitched and he put him arm around me, tucking me into his side and walking towards our class.

"Hi, by the way," I said realizing I hadn't gotten the chance to greet him.

He smirked my smirk and began casually playing with my hair.

"I like your hair like this."

"Really? Thanks," I said, surprised. I had severe bed head this morning and needed a quick fix.

While I found that Derek could joke and had a dry sense of humor, he still remained on the serious side of things and staying true to this, he nodded and said softly, almost to himself, "It showcases those beautiful eyes."

Thinking about his own eyes, I almost scoffed. But he meant it and I walked into class undoubtedly glowing.

* * *

I anxiously waited for Mr. Williams to get to my desk, heart beating rapidly and feeling rather restless. Although oddly placed—it was March—this test counted for forty percent of our mark. My grade would either make or break or me. I had felt confident after walking out of the test and Derek had been sure that I was ready. I thought it was pretty easy, but now I was paranoid, convinced I had completely misinterpreted everything and was about to receive a confirmation of my failing grade, my ineptness, thoroughly shaming both Derek and I.

He stopped in front of my desk and slid my test towards me face down, just as he had so many months ago, first bringing me to Derek.

He waited and I knew he wouldn't leave until I looked. Taking a deep breath, and flipped the paper over and…. My jaw dropped.

Williams broke out in a sunny smile, saying everything with that gesture, and thankfully continued on, leaving me in peace to pinch myself and then tightly close my eyes before slowly reopening them. I hadn't been seeing things; my mind wasn't playing idealistic tricks on me.

A 97. _A 97._

I whipped out my calculator and calculated my current average including this miracle—something else Derek had taught me to do. An 85.

I felt light-hearted and inspired with hope—I felt like I could do anything. I also felt like it was finally time to mention Photoshop5 to my dad.

The bell rang and I practically skipped out of class, stopping in my tracks when I saw Derek leaning against the wall opposite me. He looked nervous, but when he registered my expression, he must have known it was good news for his lips, which had previously been downturned in worry, transformed into a smirk.

As I walked towards him, he asked, sounding rather smug, "How'd you do?"

Standing in front of him, the rush of students faded into the background, no longer existing in my world.

"Perfect," I said, taking a moment to admire his smile before pulling him down to me just as his arms had wrapped around me and began pulling me up, reminding me that we weren't so far off from being so for each other either—perfect, that is.

**Comments, critiques, suggestions requests, questions? You know what to do. Click that attractive looking button-R&R :) Once again, thank you all for everything. **


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